


Tickled Pink

by Xenobia



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:08:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 99,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1274434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobia/pseuds/Xenobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After turning himself in to Dispatch, the Undertaker is put on probation and house arrest.  Still needing to put an end to the Aurora Society's operation, Dispatch sends officers William T. Spears, Grell Sutcliff and Ronald Knox to inspect his home and attempt to question him on the names of the remaining society's mortal members.  When he refuses to list any names, Ronald comes up with an alternative method to entertain him as a bribe.  Yaoi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, the Undertaker muse and a few of my friends convinced me to write a follow-up or add more chapters to this, so twist my arm...lol! I don't intend this to become a long multi-chapter but with me, you can never tell. Thank you to everyone for the support and feedback!

Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.

~xox~

 

The Undertaker was on probation for his actions with the Bizarre Dolls, and it was up to them to check in now and then and be sure the sly old creep wasn't up to his old tricks. This would be their first inspection of his shop since he came to Dispatch for whatever reason and turned himself in. The reaper organization chose to be lenient on him, because of his veteran status and his past service. He was to be regularly monitored and brought in for incarceration if he made so much as a single doll again. 

Dispatch had already questioned the ancient in regards to who else was involved in the making of his dolls, and what purpose they intended for them. Ordinarily, reapers stayed out of the affairs of living mortals...but the Undertaker's little "project" had disrupted the balance and the members of the Aurora society were not the average criminals. Undertaker had parted with precious little information about them so far, but due to his cooperation with house arrest and the comparably milder danger of humans figuring out how to animate the dead without his help, Dispatch was patient. They had ordered William to seek those answers, with the help of his best agents. Ron was a little surprised that he'd chosen Grell; and even more surprised when he picked him, too.

William T. Spears was a logical, tactical reaper, though. His reasoning was that both Grell and Ronald had faced down the Undertaker once before when he went rogue. They had seen what he was capable of, and they might be better prepared to deal with any intransigence than any other Dispatch agents.

"Do we really have to do this?" Ronald looked up at the shop sign with a frown, and he rubbed the back of his head at the memory of the pain visited upon it the last time he saw the ancient. He'd thought he'd be stuck with the impression of Undertaker's boot on the back of his scalp forever. It was a wonder he'd managed to stay conscious, after a blow like that.

"Yes, Knox...we really must do this." William adjusted his glasses, before using the end of his scythe to push open the mortuary door. It creaked on its hinges eerily—a fitting touch. Ever polite, the Dispatch supervisor stood aside and gestured for his two companions to go in.

"Ladies first!" exclaimed Grell as he stepped through the threshold. He seemed a bit eager to see the retired reaper again. 

"You aren't to provoke a fight, Grell Sutcliff," reminded William sternly, "nor are you here to throw yourself at him. We are here to inspect the premises and get information."

Grell sighed and twirled around to face the supervisor. "What makes you think the old bat will tell us anything, Will?"

"Whether he cooperates or not, it is our duty to perform the task set before us," answered the taller reaper. "We will conduct our assignment as professionals and report back. No arguments."

Grell rolled his eyes in Ronald's direction, and the blond smirked. "Let's just get it over with, Senpai," he suggested.

With a little huff of annoyance, the flamboyant redhead put his hands on his hips and sauntered inside with a feminine step. "Hellooo? Undie-darling, it's time for your weekly inspection! Where are you hiding?"

Ronald came in behind him and he blinked, trying to adjust to the gloomy darkness of the shop's interior. He looked around and shrugged, his brows furrowing. "Maybe he's not here."

William joined them, closing the door behind him. "He is here. The Undertaker is only permitted to leave his home three days of the week, and this is not one of them."

Grell looked at him with exasperation, and he brushed his flowing crimson hair back from his shoulders. "Will, darling, the man is a criminal! You have too much faith that he'll abide by the rules set down upon him."

"The tracking device he wears would have alerted us, if he left this shop when he is not permitted to," William pointed out. He checked the device he carried in his pocket. "He is in here."

"Goodness, my ears are burning," came a muffled voice from within a coffin at the back wall. It creaked open and the funeral director stepped out, sans top-hat. His silver bangs covered his eyes as usual, and the rest of the thick, pale tresses spilled down his shoulders and back, past his waist. He grinned at his guests and he pressed the tips of his fingers together, the long black nails meeting over them. "Hi, hi. Good of you chaps to come by."

William checked his pocket watch with a raised brow. "It's a bit late to be napping, sir."

The Undertaker tilted his head to the side, still smiling. "Is it? I rarely come out before sunset. My work tends to occur at night."

Ronald tensed slightly, ready to manifest his scythe at the first sign of aggression from the unpredictable deserter. "That work better not be raising more corpses, old man."

The mortician snorted and waved a pale hand, his long, dark sleeves flopping with the motion. "I may be mad, but I'm no fool. I've put the doll-making business behind me. You gents can feel free to have a look around while I brew us some tea, if you'd like."

Grell and Ronald both looked to William, and he nodded. "That will be fine. We shall try not to intrude upon you for very long, Undertaker. I'm afraid we'll need to see your basement and living quarters as well."

"My, aren't you a proper and polite fellow," mused the ancient. He shrugged. "Not to worry. Poke around the shop while I prepare the tea, and then I'll give you the tour of the back and the basement."

He left them to it then, vanishing behind the thick curtain separating the hallway to his living space from the shop area.

~xox~

 

Ronald sneezed as he stirred some dust while checking out the bookshelf. He waved his hand before his face to clear the air and he grumbled aloud to his companions. "Man, the guy could stand to tidy up a little."

"Coming from a reaper that uses his floor as a laundry basket," William said as he examined a skull-shaped crystal, "that's rather hypocritical."

Ronnie shrugged. "I might have clutter, but I know how to use a duster and a broom once in a while." He blew over the top of one of the medical journals and he opened it. "Do ya think he even reads this stuff?"

"I'm certain he has, at some point," reasoned the supervisor. He replaced the skull on the shelf and he nudged Grell with a frown when he caught him trying to pocket a bauble without being noticed. The redhead grinned sheepishly and put it back. "Never forget that this reaper is a genius. He may play the role of a doddering old eccentric, but you have both witnessed for yourselves how crafty he can be. He's likely memorized every volume he owns...and while I'm speaking of that subject, we may need to confiscate some of his reading material. Take anything you find pertaining to necromancy."

Ronald put the medical book away and squinted at the binders of the other books. "Some of these are so faded I can't make 'em out," he complained, "and I doubt the old fart would keep them right out in the open anyhow, if he's got anything on necromancy."

William nodded, and he opened the Undertaker's desk drawer to go over his most recent clientele reports. He frowned as his eyes scanned the documents. "He hasn't worked since just before the Campania event."

Grell sidled up to him and took his arm, ignoring his attempts to shrug him off. "Mm-hm. The dreary old fellow hasn't seen a single client since his return. You know, William, the last time I visited this place, it really was much tidier." Grell looked around with a little frown. "It's always been morbid but he used to keep it clean. Even his greeting earlier was lackluster. He actually stopped smiling for a few moments!"

William glanced sidelong at the flirtatious redhead. "Are you suggesting the Undertaker might be suffering depression, Sutcliff?"

Grell shrugged and walked his fingers up William's arm playfully. "It happens to most reapers eventually, doesn't it? He seems to have lost his spark, honestly. The man turned himself in, for goodness sake! That doesn't seem like something the Undertaker we've come to know would do."

Ronald gave up on trying to read the book binders. "Huh...that makes a weird kind of sense, Senpai. Never thought I'd say it, but I almost feel a little sorry for the guy." He looked around with a grimace. "I mean, he stays holed up in here with nothing but corpses for company. Maybe what he was really looking for when he started making those dolls was a companion, ya know?"

William frowned and replaced the documentation in its drawer. "And he failed to give them true 'life'. Perhaps that failure was what prompted him to give up and turn himself in. It's an interesting theory."

The conversation ceased when the curtains parted to admit the Undertaker from the back, again. "Were you talking about little ol' me again, gentlemen?" He smiled, but like Grell observed earlier, it seemed to lack the sparkle they were used to seeing. "Come along and have some refreshment."

The Dispatch agents exchanged glances before following him into the back.

~xox~

 

Undertaker showed them around and allowed them to inspect the building from top to bottom. The mortician led a humble life. His personal living quarters were small and quaint, offering just enough room for one or perhaps two people to live in. They did find a couple of books on Necromancy, but they were little more than collections of human folklore. William confiscated them anyway and a slight frown was the only protest Undertaker gave to that. 

Ronald found his eyes constantly straying to the collar around the old reaper's throat—administered by Dispatch to keep tabs on him. The more he looked at it and thought about it, the more it bothered him. It was a leash...a tool to keep the Undertaker in check. Having fought him once already, he was very well aware of how dangerous he could be, but it still didn't sit right with him and he wondered why it bothered him so much. He tried to push the nagging feeling away. The Undertaker did this to himself. He wouldn't be in this situation now, if he hadn't meddled with life and death that way.

Once they finished inspecting the place, they returned to the shop and William asked him the questions on his list. Undertaker was quite compliant, until he was asked for a listing of the remaining members of the Aurora society. He shook his head and spread his hands, sitting down on one of his coffins.

"Sorry chap, I can't help you there." He crossed his legs beneath his robes, and the top booted foot lazily bounced. 

"Why is it so important to you, for these mortal criminals to remain unknown by Dispatch?" Pressed William.

The retired reaper leaned back on his hands, smiling. "Because I might need a favor or three from them someday, and I can't very well collect on that if they're tossed in a Shinigami jail or killed for their transgressions."

"We are charged with shutting their operation down," insisted William. "Not that it can truly continue as it did, without your assistance. You know that Dispatch has no care for whether they live or die, Undertaker. All we care about is that their society be dissolved, so that this cannot happen again."

"Not my problem." The Undertaker examined his nails and he chewed the one on his right pointer-finger when he found a bur in it. 

William sighed. They were getting nowhere with this, and using violence against him to try and force the information out had been strictly forbidden.

"You know, Mr. Spears, I might be willing to part with a couple of names with the right incentive."

The supervisor looked at Undertaker again, frowning. 

"I believe the silver fox wants to be entertained," Grell supplied with a giggle, "but you really aren't good with jokes, Will."

An idea popped up in Ronald's head suddenly, and his eyes widened a bit. He scratched his head and looked at the ancient reaper with a bit of disconcertion in his expression. He pondered it, wondering where it came from, and he groaned inwardly when he came up with the answer.

Undertaker was prettier than most girls he knew, under that mop of silver hair. 

The mortician turned his head in his direction, and Ronald caught a brief glimpse of Shinigami eyes glittering at him from beneath the long bangs. Undertaker smiled again.

"Something on your mind, lad?"

Ronald could have sworn there was an undertone of sensuality in that question...an invitation, maybe. Then again, maybe he was just making things up in his own mind. Flirting was part of his daily routine and dating was his bread and butter. He managed to see opportunities everywhere, and maybe he was imagining this one...or maybe not.

"Hey Spears-senpai...Sutcliff-senpai, why don't ya let me take this one?"

He hardly believed the words that came out of his own mouth, but once Ronald Knox saw an opportunity, he rarely chose not to act on it. William and Grell glanced at one another, and the supervisor arched a brow. 

"What did you have in mind, Knox?"

Ronald shot another glance at the Undertaker, and he knew for a fact his boss would never go for it if he told him the truth. Grell might not even go for it, in fact. The young reaper shrugged, painting his usual cocky smirk on his face. He was a charmer. Even people that didn't go for guys tended to cave when he turned on the Knox charm. 

"Well, no offense but you've got no sense of humor and Sutcliff-senpai is likely to just try to reap the old man a new one, if you leave it to him." He looked at the Undertaker. "You like to be entertained, right?" 

The ancient nodded, a faint expression of interest crossing what could be seen of his features. "Indeed I do. You fellows are no different from anyone else seeking information from me, and I've already given you a pretty bit of it free of charge."

Ronald shrugged and looked at the two officers. "See? There ya go. I'll give the old geezer what he wants, and I'll meet you both at headquarters with my report when I'm finished. I know you've still got a lot of paperwork to do, Spears-senpai, and I know you don't want to miss your evening soaps, Sutcliff-senpai."

"Oh, that's right," Grell said, startled. "Tonight they're supposed to reveal who the father of Ariel's baby is! Oh, William, let's allow him to try! I think Ronnie can do it."

William sighed, looking dubiously between Ronald and the ancient. "I have my doubts, but I haven't the time to debate this. Very well, Knox. I expect you to have something of value for us, when you finish."

Ronald saluted him. "Count on it."

He walked them outside and once the door was shut behind them, Grell turned to him with a slightly concerned look on his face. He dropped his usual antics and spoke somberly for a change. "Ronnie, are you sure about this? You do know we can't trust that old creeper further than we could throw him, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know." Ronald winked. "Just leave it to me. I've got this."

Grell and William exchanged one more doubtful glance, before the latter manifested a portal to their realm. "Please inform us if anything goes awry," cautioned William. "Come, Sutcliff. I would like to clock out on time for once."

Grell took his arm and blew a kiss to Ronald. "Have fun, Ronnie!"

The blond waved at them and he sighed once they stepped through and vanished. Looking back at the shop, he wondered if he could go through with his idea.

~xox~

 

Undertaker looked up when the blond reaper came back in, and he smiled—though he didn't particularly feel like it. His grins were really just a sham these days—a mask he wore in an attempt to cheer himself up. Laughter was all but gone, and he couldn't quite understand when he'd lost it or why. Maybe it was just boredom weighing him down. Everything seemed so monotonous, so sordid. He felt like he'd done it all. He watched as the boy approached him, seeing little more than a blur of fair skin, blond hair and a Shinigami uniform. 

"Ronald, isn't it?"

The blurred figure nodded, and he flipped the lock on the door before closing the distance. "That's right, old guy."

He sat down on the coffin directly across from Undertaker, close enough that the mortician could see his features clearly. He was an attractive sort for certain, with boyish good looks and a confident, engaging smile. Undertaker rather liked his smile. "So," said the ancient, resting his hands on his knees. "Go on, then...laugh me up. Give me a giggle."

Ronald smirked at him. "Sure, I can make you giggle. Probably not the way you're thinking, though."

The mortician was mildly confused. "Wasn't that the point in your staying behind...to entertain me?"

The boy nodded. "Oh yeah. I'll entertain you, old guy. I'm just not all that good at jokes either."

The Undertaker sighed with disappointment. "How unfortunate. I was really looking forward to having a laugh." He made a shooing gesture at his guest. "Go on, then. My information is only for those who can bring a smile to my lips. I've got no use for you, otherwise."

"Now hold on a minute," protested Ronald. "You don't even know what I was gonna do!"

"I'm already bored." Undertaker crossed his arms over his chest and sulked. He'd actually hoped the body could lighten his black mood a little.

"Wow."

The ancient peeked through his bangs. "Eh?"

Ronald chuckled and combed his fingers through his feathered blond hair. "I've seen a few different sides of you by now, but I've never seen you be childish."

"Hmph. Childish, is it? You offered something you weren't prepared to deliver, my dear. That's annoying...and not particularly professional of you, I might add."

The blond gave him one of those charming smiles. "You think I'm not going to deliver? Maybe jokes weren't what I had in mind, but I'm still planning to entertain you."

Ronald leaned toward him, his smile growing mischievous. "I started thinking about what ya look like underneath all that hair. You're pretty."

The Undertaker frowned, perplexed. "You're right; you aren't very good at jokes."

~xox~

 

Ronald chuckled, and he switched seats so that he was sitting beside the Undertaker. "That wasn't a joke." How could a reaper that seemed so confident in battle be so self-conscious about his looks? He could sense the ancient's uncertainty as he turned his head toward him, the usually grinning lips curved into that frown. He had pretty lips too, Ronald realized. Very kissable. The bottom lip was plump enough to provide some nice cushioning, and the top was shapely and sensitive looking. Ron wondered how long it had been since anyone tasted those lips.

Then his thoughts went to the bodies that Undertaker worked over with so much enthusiasm, and the way he'd held that undead girl aboard the Campania. He somehow hid his grimace as it occurred to him that maybe Undertaker got plenty of nookie—just not from living folks. He was still interested in his idea, but he thought he should clear the air before he continued.

"Hey, when you're playing around with those dolls and...uh...dead people, ya don't like...do stuff with them, do ya?"

The frown relaxed, and the mortician tilted his head curiously. "What sort 'stuff' might you be referring to, Ronnie?" The grin started to come back.

The agent thought it over. It seemed like the old man was toying with him, like he knew exactly what he meant and he just wanted to see him squirm at the thought. Undertaker was known for getting a kick out of shocking and frightening people, after all. Refusing to be cowed, Ronald shrugged and elaborated his own way. 

"Just wondering where your lips have been."

Undertaker snorted. "Not very subtle, are you? This seems to be a subject of debate that pops up often. No, dear boy, I'm not in the habit of desecrating my clients or my dollies that way. The only place my lips have been for quite some time is on beakers of tea or around the neck of a bottle, when the mood strikes me to imbibe."

Ronald deliberately pictured what the Undertaker's lips would look like, encircling the neck of a bottle. His mind of course transferred that image to a certain body part he was often accused of thinking with, and he grinned. Oh yeah, he could do this.

Acting with typical Knox-like boldness, he placed a hand on the Undertaker's covered knee and he leaned close to murmur a suggestion into his ear. "The neat thing about interacting with living people is we can find all sorts of other uses for your lips." He gave his knee a squeeze, and he blew into his ear.

Most people usually liked that, but the Undertaker's reaction wasn't what Ronald had hoped for or anticipated. The ancient gave a start, clamped a pale hand over his ear and jumped up. He rubbed the ear as if it had been scalded, and Ronald could tell by the way his bangs were flicking that he was blinking at him beneath that veil of hair. A delicate pink blush spread over the Undertaker's pallid, sculpted features and his lips were slack and parted.

"Here now, what do you think you're doing?"

Unused to getting reactions like that, Ronald was a bit surprised, himself. The old fossil actually seemed startled by the move...and he had never imagined the Undertaker being startled by anything. "It's called 'flirting', old geezer. Look it up."

"Why?" demanded the mortician, giving his ear another rub. "Why would you...is this your idea of entertaining me? Playing a joke at my expense? I can take a good prank as well as the next fellow, but that's just mean."

"Oh," breathed Ronald, blinking himself. "Wow. You really think I was just teasing, don't you?"

He stood up and took a step towards the mortician—who in turn took a step back and regarded him warily. "Jeez, calm down." Ronald spread his hands in a pacifying gesture. "I'm sorry if I startled you, but it's not a joke. I'm just—"

"I think it's time you take your leave, agent." Undertaker swallowed, and the black tracking collar around his throat shifted with the motion.

Ron's eyes followed it and he sighed, his pity returning. "Sorry, not gonna happen."

Hoping he wasn't making a big mistake, the blond closed the distance between them. Undertaker backed up again, but Ronald persisted until he was against the corner of the room and had nowhere else to go without physically moving him out of the way. He smiled up at the tall, silver reaper, putting all of his charm into it.

"It's okay," he promised, reaching out to take the long-nailed hands in his. "I moved too fast, didn't I? I guess I just figured someone with as much balls as you've got would be okay with that."

"Yours are clearly bigger than mine," countered the mortician, trying to pull his hands out of Ronald's grip. "Didn't you hear me, boy? I said to get gone."

Noticing that his attempts lacked strength and confident that the man could knock him flat on his ass if he really wanted to, Ronald played another card. "Why don't you make me? I know they couldn't take your scythe. The boss said you were too attuned to it. You could reap me if you wanted to."

"And have Dispatch further up my knickers than they already are," snorted Undertaker. "Believe it or not, I'm tired of conflict."

Ronald shrugged, and he rubbed his thumbs over the taller man's sensitive palms. "Then kick my ass out. Much as I hate to admit it, I probably couldn't stop you."

Seeming distracted by his coaxing touch, the Undertaker regarded him as if he were the madman, of the two of them. "You're treading on ice that's quite thin, my dear."

"Yeah? I don't think so." He was confident now that the ancient was at least intrigued enough not to commence with the ass-kicking he'd suggested. Ronald tugged on the hands that he held, urging the Undertaker to come with him away from the corner. Hesitantly, the ancient followed. 

"I think you're lonely," said Ronald, carefully guiding him back to the coffin they had been sitting on. "You need some real, living contact and we need information. I said I'd entertain ya, and I meant it."

"By whoring yourself?" The Undertaker followed with less reluctance though, his hands beginning to return the pressure of Ronald's.

"I don't shame easily." Ronald grinned. "And it's not whoring if I'm doing it because I want to. The information would just be a bonus."

He sat down on the coffin, still holding the older reaper's hands. Ronald looked up at him and his confident grin softened into something more gentle. "At least sit with me for a while and hold hands. You don't have to kick my head in again to make me stop if I do something you don't like; just speak up."

Undertaker slowly sank down on the coffin lid beside him, but he kept enough distance between them that only their hands came into contact. "I must be more out of touch with the younger generations than I thought. Why would you offer me this? A young, attractive fellow like yourself must have better options than spooky ol' Undertaker...especially seeing as I made a bit of a mess of you and your mentor on that ship."

Ron removed one of his hands from the ancient's and he waved dismissively, the way his mentor sometimes did. "Eh, we didn't really give you much choice. You didn't come at us until we came at you, and I don't really hold grudges." He winked at him playfully. "I might ask you for a re-match someday though, when I've gotten better."

Undertaker smirked a bit, apparently relaxing slightly. "Fancy getting your butt smacked again, do you?"

Ronald took that comment and ran with it. "You could smack my butt right now if you wanted, and I wouldn't complain." 

The ancient shook his head and chuckled, looking down. "You young folk are so brazen, these days." He lifted his silver head again and shook his bangs to the side slightly, so that one eye was revealed as he looked at Ronald. "Or is it just you?"

For a moment, Ronald was caught up in that gaze and his brain froze. In the heat of combat, he really hadn't had the chance to get more than a few passing glimpses of those eyes and that face. Even the scar twisting down from the scalp, over the left lid and all the way down to the other side of Undertaker's face didn't distract from his countenance. He understood why the Undertaker hid his eyes, working in the mortal realm as he did. He thought it was an awful shame, though. Undertaker possessed an timeless beauty, and though Ronald knew he was practically older than dirt, he sure didn't look it. 

"It's mostly just me," he breathed, unable to look away. "But I'm pretty shameless. Wow, you really are beautiful."

The ancient's slim, shapely brow furrowed a bit, and he lowered his gaze. The thick fringe of lashes concealed his eye again. Those pale lashes made Ronald think of the way fine snow powdered the needles of the evergreens in the winter. The veil of his bangs slipped forward again to hide the sight from Ronald's eyes. 

"Can't say I've heard someone call me that for a very long time," admitted the ancient softly.

Ronald could easily imagine the sort of attention this reaper must have gotten in his youth, before he went rogue, got scarred up and took on the persona of the wacky old mortician. "But you have been called that before," he persisted. "I'll bet you were a player...admit it."

Another little smirk appeared on the pale lips. "I might have had my share of lovers, once upon a time. It was a very long time ago." His voice had changed...grown deeper and smoother. The cockney accent had faded, replaced by another one that Ronald had trouble placing. It was sensual, to his ears.

"Is that what you sounded like, back in the day?" wondered the blond. "What is that accent...some kind of Scandinavian?"

Undertaker chuckled lightly, turning his face back to him to smile. It wasn't the usual mad smile, nor was it the tired, washed up one Ronald had spotted earlier. It was...charming. Engaging. A little like his own, in fact. "Finnish, to be exact. Not bad, my dear. You've a good ear. I like the Brit accent, though. Seems to fit my persona better."

Ronald was too enchanted by the change in his voice to say anything, just yet. Who would have thought that a lower pitch, a softer tone and an alternate accent could make such a difference? He reached out to stroke the ancient's bangs back from his face, wanting to see all of it again. Undertaker didn't stop him; he just watched him with a quiet, subtle wariness as if he might run off at any moment.

Now that he could gaze into those mesmerizing eyes again, Ronald was stricken with another realization. So deep...so expressive. He could see the weariness in them, and there was a sadness he didn't catch before. It was usually hard to tell what the Undertaker was thinking, because he hid those eyes from view all the time. Now they were exposed, and perhaps he deliberately chose to express with his eyes what he didn't want to express in words.

"Well, love," whispered the mortician. "Go ahead. Entertain me."

Suddenly this didn't feel like an assignment, a game or even a conquest to the blond. He was drowning in that gaze, and he cupped the side of the Undertaker's face as he closed the distance between their mouths. The ancient's lips were dry but soft against his, and Ronald felt the sudden tension in his body as he claimed them. How long had it been since anyone kissed this man? The contact almost felt virginal to him, and he wondered if he'd gone for so long without romantic contact with anyone that he'd just forgotten how it was done. He didn't pull away though, and that was good.

Ronald decided to take it slow, not wanting to startle the man again by getting ahead of himself. What started out as a curious whim was quickly becoming a powerful desire. The ancient's lips began to animate against his...hesitantly. It was kind of sweet, this almost shy side of him. He just needed to ease back into it, Ronald supposed. He needed to show the Undertaker that his interest was genuine...not just part of his assignment.

Ronald slid his fingers through the soft, long hair spilling down the Undertaker's back. He'd wondered if it was as silky as it looked, and now he had his proof. Grell had soft hair too; he'd learned that when his Senpai made him help style it one night, after a few drinks. This wasn't his senpai, though. 

Opting to avoid the tongue for now, Ronald pressed soft kisses against his lips, and then he meandered over his cheek, to his temple. He reached his left ear and he blew into it softly again, wondering if he'd get the same reaction as before. Undertaker made a funny little sound in his throat and he tilted his head, not exactly warding him away, but expressing an uncertain pleasure in it. Ronald did it again and a soft, low giggle burst from the ancient's lips. He pulled back to look at him, grinning when he saw the pale pink blush returning to his features.

"Tickle?" he guessed.

Undertaker rubbed his ear and nodded. 

Ronald cupped the back of the ancient's head and blew into his ear again, making him squirm. A glance down revealed that it didn't just tickle in an innocent way, either. Ronald could see a tent forming in the long black garment that the ancient wore over his pants and boots.

"N-no," chuckled the mortician, lightly pushing at the agent's shoulders. "Stop that...it's..."

Now he was acting a little girly, but Ronald didn't mind. He thought it was cute. He never would have thought he'd use the adjective "cute" to describe the Undertaker, and yet...

He kept one hand on the back of the mortician's head to hold it still, and he began to stroke his body with the other...slowly sliding it down over his chest. Undertaker laughed softly as he blew into his ear again, and then he gasped a little when the blond kissed the shell of it, just above one of the hoops piercing the lobe. He'd found at least one weakness at least, and he intended to take advantage of that. He felt the ancient's arm go around him hesitantly, and he nibbled the lobe, gently tugging on the piercings with his teeth. 

"Oh...m-my," breathed the ancient, his eyes fluttering shut. His giggles had faded, though he was still squirming a bit. A shiver went through him and Ronald smiled. 

"It's okay," purred the blond, putting his hand lightly on his thigh. When the mortician didn't object, he began a careful trek up his leg, pushing under the material of his long black shirt to run his palm over his leg. He felt the leather and buckles of his boots, and his trousers started feeling tight. He'd forgotten how far those damned boots went up.

"That's hot," he murmured against the Undertaker's ear, toying with one of the buckles for a moment. He refrained from saying that he wondered what he'd look like in nothing but those boots. Too much might spook him again, and he could already feel the tension in his thigh when he explored further and settled his hand on the place where the boots ended. He paused there, giving his companion a few moments to relax again. 

~Take it slow and easy, Ronnie...don't let your dick do the thinking. Don't screw this up.~

It was hard though—and not just figuratively. The more he touched him, the more he provoked those shivers of delight and uncertain gasps, the more he wanted him. Maybe he couldn't go all the way with him today, but he could at least tear down a few walls and make him feel good. He brought his hand around from the back of his head and he caressed the Undertaker's scarred throat with his fingertips, keeping his touch light. He came into contact with the collar and he almost winced. He was really hating that thing and what it represented. He moved his hand back up, and he traced the ancient's other ear.

Undertaker's breath quickened, his arm tightening around the blond's. His other hand settled on Ronald's knee, and he tilted his head the other way; silently urging him on. He was starting to give in, taking pleasure in the agent's attentions. Ronald removed his glasses and pocketed them so that they wouldn't get in the way, before he resumed caressing his ear. Undertaker rubbed the young man's knee and his lips parted on a faint groan as Ronald blew into his ear again. He squirmed again in reaction, making Ronald grin a bit. 

He couldn't seem to avoid his nervous reactions when the boy's touches got bolder, but he was no longer trying to push him away. Ronald was beginning to feel the urge to squirm too, when his companion's embrace and touch became more confident. Undertaker was rubbing his leg slowly, just above the knee, and there was this sexy, purring sound coming from his throat as Ronald teased his ears. Maybe he should go for his goal, now. Inwardly bracing for another conniption, the blond slid his hand the rest of the way up Undertaker's thigh to have a feel of his package. Not surprisingly, the elder Shinigami jumped a little. The hand that had been rubbing his knee withdrew and settled over the one Ronald was cupping him with. It started to pull it away, but Ronald stubbornly began to massage the swelling under the soft, snug material housing it, and Undertaker's hand trembled and settled over his.

Ronald kissed his way from the mortician's ear to his lips, murmuring encouragement to him as he fondled what felt like a pretty impressive package. "It's all right...I'm just rubbing it a little. Just wanna make you feel good, Undertaker."

It didn't even occur to him to refer to him as an "old man" anymore. He didn't seem so old to Ronnie now...just a little damaged. The parted lips gasped against his, and a groan escaped them as he steadily rubbed his palm up and down the length of the encased arousal. Undertaker slowly removed his hand, evidently giving him permission to continue. The long, pale hand came to rest on Ronald's thigh, and it began rub it. The ancient's thighs parted a little and his tongue sought entry to Ronald's mouth, surprising him. He allowed it gladly, feeling a thrill of accomplishment. 

Undertaker's tongue fenced with his, and the pressure of his lips deepened. Ronald let him dominate the kiss. As his passion started to win over, the ancient's kiss deepened and Ronald discovered that he was damned good at it. Undertaker withdrew his mouth, only to close in again, his tongue lancing in and fondling the blond's. 

It was making Ronald really hot. He moaned into the ancient's mouth, pressing down a little more as he massaged his crotch. Ronald stopped caressing Undertaker's chest, and he began to flick open the buttons of his long shirt. The mortician was apparently too invested in the kiss and the fondling to care, and with a little effort and patience, Ronald got the shirt unbuttoned. His next goal became obvious when he started to unlace the Undertaker's pants.

"Not sure you want to do that," gasped the mortician, again settling a hand over one of the blond's busy ones.

"I am," countered Ronald, and he kissed him again to cut off further protests. 

He wondered for a moment if the Undertaker's cock was scarred like the rest of him, but when he got the pants undone and pulled them open to expose it, he found it undamaged. He kissed Undertaker's neck—just above the collar, where the scar was. He glanced down as he gripped the exposed shaft, trying to get more than a glimpse of it without making the man nervous or self-conscious again. Undertaker sighed as if in bliss, tilting his head back. His arm tightened around Ronald again and his hand slid up his thigh to return the favor. It was Ronald's turn to gasp as the long fingers began to knead the swell of his crotch through his trousers, before the palm cupped it and began to rub. 

It was pretty distracting in a good way, but the blond was determined to have a better look at Undertaker's goods. While the ancient had his head back, Ronald briefly left off kissing his neck to get a full view of the shaft he was stroking. He got visual confirmation to match what he was feeling in his hand, and he grinned. His shaft was pale like the rest of him, but for the tip. The exposed cap of his glans was flushed with a hint of mortal coloring to match the blush he'd earlier provoked from him. The sack beneath the shaft matched the tip in pinkish coloring, and the thatch of hair framing the set matched the silvery color of on Undertaker's head. 

"Damn," breathed the blond, impressed.

Undertaker's head fell forward again and he looked at him, panting softly. A lock of his bangs fell over his left eye and that blush was back in his cheeks. "Something wrong, love?" The cockney accent was back again, but the tone of voice was still deep and silken.

Ronald shook his head vehemently. Undertaker was way too pretty now, with his features relaxed and vulnerable with pleasure. Maybe he should revise his plan on who should top...that was, if the Undertaker allowed him to get that far. He usually preferred to bottom but looking at the mortician right now, with his lips parted and his eyes soft with wonder, Ron could easily go the other way.

A smile curved the Undertaker's lips. "Cat got your tongue? Don't get...skittish on me...now, my dear. Not now."

The nearly pleading note in his voice snapped Ronald out of his daze. He closed the distance between their faces and kissed him, resuming his stroking and making him groan again. "No chance of that now. Promise."

His reassurance seemed to bolster the ancient's confidence even more, and Ronald lifted his hips to help him when Undertaker unbuckled his pants and undid his trousers. The elder slid them down enough to free Ronnie from confinement, and he enclosed his hand around his length once he did. Ronald moaned and shut his eyes, pushing into the touch. It wasn't so hesitant now, but the experienced grip of a man that knew how to please. He dimly realized that he was guiding him onto his back, and he opened his eyes again to look up at the reaper hovering over him. Undertaker's shirt was hanging open to expose his chest, stomach and the marks of battle slashing over them. His hair was pulled over to one side, falling in a rich cascade of silver to touch the floor on the left side of the coffin. His eyes were alight with desire, and his thighs were wedged between Ronald's.

He felt like he'd re-awakened something that Undertaker had locked up inside of him. The ancient's lips claimed his again, and Ronald didn't care whether it was an act to test him or not. The man obviously wanted him, and Ronald endeavored to give him a taste of how good he'd have it if they let this go further. He stroked his tongue against Undertaker's invading one and he reached down with his other hand to slip it into his pants and cup his balls. Undertaker made another one of those shocked but pleased sounds in his throat, and a shudder passed through him. He was trembling, actually, and Ronald whispered encouragement to him.

As their mutual pleasuring progressed, Ronald's jacket ended up hanging open, along with his shirt. That could be blamed on a combined effort; he'd yanked his tie off and undid the top three buttons when he started breaking into a sweat. The Undertaker took care of the rest. Those soft, pale lips were kissing up and down Ronald's exposed chest, and the boy gasped when Undertaker fished out the tube of lubricant he kept in his blazer as a precautionary measure.

"Um..." said the agent stupidly when his companion dangled the object before his eyes, a curious look on his face. "That's...that's for..."

"I can guess what this is for." The mortician grinned, his gaze flicking to Ronald's. "Did you plan this from the beginning, love, or do you always keep this sort of thing on your person?"

Feeling acutely embarrassed—even though he had high hopes that they'd end up having sex—Ronald looked down. "Well, I can't tell ya how frustrating it is when you get hot and heavy with someone and you don't have anything to use. Maybe that makes me sound like a man-whore, but I've always tried to be prepared, since then. I swear, I didn't come here thinking I'd get in your pants. It wasn't even on my mind, at first."

Undertaker had stopped fondling him, but Ronald refused to stop, himself. He kept going, and the mortician's eyes fluttered shut with pleasure. The lubricant tumbled out of his hand and his breath caught, brows furrowing with increasing tension. Ronald smiled. "I know what it looks like. Maybe I'll just have to prove it to ya. I don't need to get off...I can just get you off and be satisfied with that."

The mortician's eyes slid open again, looking down at him with curious puzzlement blending with lust. "That doesn't seem...fair to you," he breathed. His breath caught again, his mouth going slack as Ronald's persistent stroking distracted him.

The blond's smile didn't fade. "Maybe I'm hoping if I make you feel good enough, you'll eventually do me."

Another look of confusion flitted over the mortician's pale, strained face. "'Do you' what, darlin' I...unh...I d-don't..."

Obviously the Undertaker didn't understand Ronald's slang. He was close though...so close the blond could practically taste it. He could explain his meaning later. Right now, he really wanted to see what that face looked like in the throes of a climax. He lifted his head to kiss the Undertaker's heaving chest, licking a scar that slashed over his pectorals. "Don't worry about it. I'll tell ya later. Just...just let it go."

Undertaker hissed, and he began to thrust into the hand milking his cock so expertly. "Ah...oh, mercy," he gasped shakenly, his tracking collar clinking against the beads he wore around his neck as he pumped his hips and rocked forward and back. They'd forgotten to remove the necklace and now it was hanging down, the beads rolling over Ronald's chest. He hardly even noticed; he was too intent on their owner.

Never imagining seeing this reaper so hot and vulnerable, Ronald whimpered a little at the sight of him, and the feel of his lean body gyrating on top of him. Even if the Undertaker couldn't recall the last time he'd made love, the motions of his body right now left no doubt in Ronald's mind that he'd be one hell of a lay. Undertaker tried to balance himself to resume stroking the blond off too, but Ronald shook his head, unwilling to let him get distracted from the moment.

"Don't worry about that, either," he insisted huskily. "You might overbalance and fall, and that would interrupt us. Just keep going, beautiful. You're almost there."

He hardly had to move his hand anymore. Undertaker's snapping hips had taken over, and Ronald fantasized over what it would be like to have him thrusting inside of him like this. He squirmed beneath him and moaned again, unable to tear his eyes off his face. The Undertaker gave a final push, a final shudder, and then his seed spurted onto Ronald's stomach. The expression of bliss on his face was just as hot as Ronald imagined...no...it was hotter. 

"Oh...shit," gasped the blond, and then he came, too. 

Now there were creamy splotches on Undertaker's loose garments as well, dripping off to mingle with the mortician's deposit on Ronald's stomach. He didn't seem to care or notice. Panting with release, he stared down at the agent with a sort of wonder on his face. A smile grew on his lips, and he began to relax. He lowered his head and he nuzzled Ronald's throat, his uneven breath warm against his skin. 

"That," he sighed, "was worth at least two names, my dear."

Gasping for breath himself, Ronald stopped fondling him and he patted his back, speechless. 

Undertaker lifted his head again, and he looked down at Ronald's softening sex with mild surprise. "Hmm, did you..."

The blond nodded. "Yeah. Oh yeah. You're good, old man." He glanced down at himself, then looked up at the Undertaker with a smirk. "Nobody's ever made me come with just a look, before." Well, it wasn't just that look on his face when he'd reached orgasm; it was the way his body moved as well, along with Ronald's perverted imagination. He'd also gotten him pretty close with his hand-job before he quit, too.

The mortician chuckled. "If I could make you do that with only a look, Ronnie-boy, I might be tempted to come and stare at you in the office all day."

Ronald blushed, taken off-guard by the suggestion. "Then I'd never get anything done and Spears-Senpai would have me scrubbing toilets."

The older reaper's smiling lips descended to his, kissing them softly before whispering against them. "I wouldn't want that, now. James Foster and Caroline Connor."

Ronald gave him a blank look. "Is that some funky mortician pillow-talk, to blurt random people's names?"

"No, silly lad." Undertaker chuckled again, sounding more like his droll self. "That was our agreement. You entertained me—quite well, I might add—and I'm giving you a couple of names in exchange."

"Oh." Ronald's blush deepened. "Right...forgot about that. Um...mind if I get up and write those down?"

Undertaker eased back off of him, turning away to tuck himself back into his pants. "Be my guest."

Ronald pulled his pants up and did the same, before sitting up and straddling the coffin. The mortician's back was still turned to him, and by the motions of his arms, he was probably lacing his pants back up and buttoning his clothes. The blond impulsively reached out to stroke the pale glory of his hair, and Undertaker went still.

"I really didn't do all that just to get the names," offered Ronald softly. "I just came here to help with the inspection. The idea just came to me, and getting your cooperation was a convenient excuse to act on it."

The mortician half-turned, looking at him through the fringe of his bangs that had fallen over his eyes again. "Nice to know...but I'm still curious as to why."

Ronald shrugged. "Maybe 'cause you're so mysterious. That's kind of exciting. I also thought...well, I thought you could use it. I felt—"

"—Sorry for me," finished the Undertaker for him with a sigh. "Yes, I see."

Ronald scooted closer, and before he even knew what he was doing, he put his arms around the older reaper's waist and embraced him from behind. "It's not that. Okay, maybe it's part of it, but...but I think I like you. I think I could really get to like you, after this. I might go on a lot of dates, but that was...aw, hell...nobody's ever made me feel like that before."

The mortician laid a hand over Ronald's overlapping ones on his stomach. "Oh? And how is that, my dear?"

Confused, the young man rested his forehead against Undertaker's shoulder and groaned. "I dunno...like I'm falling from a high place, I guess. That's what if feels like when you look at me. Stupid, huh?"

The ancient smiled, and he turned around to face him. "Not at all. It's flattering, but I wonder if it's only a crush."

Ronald frowned. "I don't get crushes on people that kick me in the head. I'm not a masochist."

Undertaker laughed softly. "We'll see. Oh, you might want to clean that up." He nodded at the mess drying on Ronald's stomach. "There's a bit on your pants, too. I'll fetch a soapy sponge for you."

The mortician got up abruptly and left the room before Ronald could say anything. The blond watched him go, and he retrieved his glasses from his pocket and replaced them on his face. He blew a sigh, still reeling from the encounter. "What the hell am I doing?"

It was supposed to be just a fun little fling, a chance to see what was under all those black layers and get the information his department needed. How did he go from seducing a flustered old reaper to getting butterflies in his stomach when he looked at him?"

"Maybe I'm losing my edge."

~xox~

 

A short while later, Ronald pocketed his notebook and straightened his uniform. He'd gotten all of the evidence off with Undertaker's help, and now it was time for him to return to Dispatch with his report. The mortician had given him addresses to go with the names, once they got cleaned up. He looked up at the tall figure after being escorted to the shop door, and he tried to think of something to say. Undertaker had his signature top-hat on again and he'd changed into his usual, drab robes.

"So listen, I...I..."

For the first time in his life, he didn't have a pickup line to try and get someone on a date.

Undertaker shook his head and smiled, pressing two fingers against Ronald's lips. "Hush, now. It was the best interrogation I've ever had." He snickered impulsively.

Ronald was confused. The old man was acting like it never happened. He could have been talking about a good joke, for all anyone knew. What happened to the reaper that got so flustered and nervous when he came onto him? What happened to the awkward, blushing recluse that squirmed when he blew into his ear?

"Are you feeling all right?"

The mortician tilted his head, his grin remaining affixed. "Why shouldn't I be? It was a lovely visit, Mr. Knox."

"Would you...ah...want me to drop by again?" Ronald scratched his head, unnerved. 

Undertaker shrugged. "If you'd like. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again when the time comes for my next inspection though, Mr. Knox."

"Er...yeah." Ronald slumped a little. "Yeah, probably. All right then...no, wait." He shook his head. "This isn't right. You do remember what happened between us, don't ya?"

"Every bit of it," confirmed the ancient with a nod. "I enjoyed it immensely."

"B-but you were so freaked out at first," protested Ronald, "and now you're just...casual!"

The Undertaker sighed, and he leaned over to speak into the agent's ear, his voice changing back to the silken one with the Finnish accent. "Who says you were the one doing the seducing, fledgling?"

Ronald's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He stared at the Undertaker as the man straightened up again, removed his top-hat and gave him a graceful bow. The mortician looked up from his still-hunched position with a smile, his eyes partly visible beneath his displaced bangs.

"We all have our masks, my dear. I've become particularly adept at handling mine." He straightened back up again, flipped his top hat back onto his head and patted Ronald on the rear as he opened the door.

"Now shoo, little agent," chastised the ancient, his voice again returning to the slightly scratchy, detached voice of the mad old mortician. "Before they come looking for you and you get in a spot of trouble. Toodles!"

Ron was ushered out, and the door slammed shut behind him before he could utter a single protest. He stood there on the sidewalk, staring blankly at nothing as he reviewed what had just happened in his head. 

"I've been had!"

And it hurt. 

"It was all an act..."

Well, he'd started out doing it to use the Undertaker. So what if the crafty old bastard had turned it around on him and used him instead? It wasn't like he couldn't pick up a date anytime he felt like it, and he did have a lot of fun with him.

He kept trying to reason it out and blow it off, but he couldn't banish the ache. He really thought he'd see something in the Undertaker...something he could...what...love?

Ronald's feet dragged as he walked away from the shop, trying to muster the energy to make a portal home. Now he knew how some of his dates felt when he didn't call them back.

~xox~

 

Within his shop, Undertaker watched as the dejected young man walked away. He lowered his eyes and absently clasped his hands together, remembering what it had felt like for someone to so fearlessly hold them. He touched his ear, closing his eyes as he recalled the tickling caress of Ronald's breath on it. Yes, they all had their masks...and his had honestly slipped, once that darling blond fellow turned on the charm and backed him into a corner.

He couldn't allow Ronald Knox to know that, however. Unsmiling, the mortician turned away from the window and walked through his lonely shop, trying to forget the touch of a young reaper that had no business trying to romance him.

~xox~

 

\- The End?


	2. Chapter 2

 

He rested his chin on his arm, folded over his desk. He held the pen up on its end with the tip of one finger, watching dully as he let it go and allowed it to drop on its side. He did it again...and again. 

~ _Plop. Plop. Plop.~  
_

Ronald sighed. In addition to being bored at work as usual, he was terribly depressed. 

"Why did he do that? I just don't get it." 

More importantly, why was he letting it get to him? He knew the Undertaker was a flake. He'd only pursued an encounter like that with him out of curiosity. Like the old lunatic said; he had plenty of other options. 

_~Plop. Plop. Plop.~_

He just couldn't stop thinking about the way he'd blushed and giggled when he blew in his ear, or the way he'd looked when he came; all open and vulnerable and trusting... 

The blond groaned and rested his head on his arm. Maybe his problem was with the rejection. He wasn't used to being rejected. He was usually the one turning down follow-up dates when it seemed they might lead into a relationship. He'd never had someone go from romantic to casual on him before. He didn't know it could hurt this much. 

"Slacking again, Knox?" 

The young man lifted his head, half-expecting to see William glowering down at him. Instead he raised his eyes to see Grell's shark-like grin. "Good imitation, Senpai," he sighed. 

The redhead frowned a bit and hopped onto his desk, taking the pen that Ronald had been fooling with moments ago. "What has been with you lately, Ronald? You've been moping for three days in a row, now; ever since..." 

Grell raised a brow and looked down at him with interest. "Ever since our visit to the Undertaker. Did that dreary old fellow say something to depress you, darling?" 

Ronald sat up and shrugged self-consciously. "No. I guess I've just been thinking of that collar on him." It wasn't exactly a lie. Despite the hurt that Undertaker had done to him, it still bothered him to see him figuratively "chained" like that. 

Grell ruffled his hair affectionately. "Don't fret over that. Dispatch doesn't have the time or resources to keep tabs on him forever, you know. Eventually his probation will end and he'll be free to come and go as he wants." The redhead grimaced. "At least he didn't get stuck with a pair of measly scissors as punishment for _his_ transgressions. He got to _keep_ his death scythe." 

Ronald smirked at the memory of Grell having to reap with a pair of scissors for several months, and he sat up in his chair. "Yeah, well his is too attuned to him for that." His brow furrowed. "Wow, he really _is_ old, isn't he?" 

"Older than dirt," agreed Grell with a toss of his crimson hair. "But really, Dispatch is rather lenient when reapers cross the line. There are few enough of us at it is, and the old man is part of Shinigami history. Don't allow yourself to get too sympathetic, Mustard Seed. He chose to turn himself in, after all, and perhaps Dispatch will shorten his probation, once he gives us all the names we need." 

"Maybe," sighed Ronald. "Oh, about that...what happened with those names I _did_ get from him?" 

Grell giggled. "The mortals were given a rather stiff warning and a bit of a scare. We couldn't very well reap humans not on the death list, but we could still put the fear of death into them and we have people watching to ensure they don't get up to any funny business." 

"That's it?" Ronald frowned. "I did all that just for a warning? They could have at least contacted the Yard so they could get human justice." 

"The problem with that is there was a lack of evidence." Grell shrugged lightly. "The Yard _was_ notified and they no doubt are investigating, but whether anything comes of that is anyone's guess. Dispatch has done its part. As long as no further 'dolls' crop up, I don't think the organization heads really care all that much." 

Ronald grimaced. They'd made it seem so serious. Undertaker was really getting little more than a slap on the wrist, and the humans he'd worked with would probably get off scot-free. He felt even more used than before. All this disappointment and confusion and for what? A whole lot of nothing. 

"Ronnie, what really happened in that shop after we left?" 

The blond looked up at his mentor again. Grell looked uncommonly concerned. Ronald managed a smile for him, knowing he was possibly the only reaper the redhead ever genuinely worried about. "I gave the old guy incentive, like I said I would. He didn't do anything to me, if that's what you're thinking." 

_~Well, nothing bad...until I left.~  
_

"Then why are you so bloody gloomy?" demanded Grell. "I've never seen you so down, Ronnie." 

"I'm just tired," excused the younger reaper. "We've been doing a lot of overtime and even when I've finished my daily reports, I end up stuck here for two hours after I'm supposed to be off the clock. If they're going to make us stay longer, they ought to at least give us something to do." 

Grell nodded in agreement. "It's that stuffy William's fault. He's convinced we need to keep people on for longer because it's flu season in the mortal realm. I'm going to suggest to him that rather than keep us cooped up in Headquarters with longer shifts, he should just put some of us on call and let everyone go home when they are supposed to." 

"Hey, that's a good idea." Ron perked up a little. "Think he'd go for it?" 

Grell sighed and lifted one leg delicately, examining his boot for scuffs. "You know that man will find a way to make the most simple things more complicated. He might complain about overtime but I honestly wonder if he would even know what to do with himself, without it." 

"Spears-Senpai lives for his job," said Ronald with a nod. "I think the man needs to get laid." 

The crimson reaper grinned. "And I would be oh so willing to accommodate that need, if only Will would stop being so stubborn." He sighed, his eyes losing focus and a dreamy little smile forming on his lips. "He's so dashing. Such cold, handsome perfection." 

Ron scratched the back of his head, uncomfortable as always with Grell expressing his infatuation with William. He'd been the one to suggest William needed to get laid, but picturing the two of them going at it was like picturing his parents together or something. "Yeah...you've said all that before, Senpai. Just keep trying...maybe you'll wear him down and then you can get him to top torturing all of us after you loosen him up with...that." 

The older reaper chuckled. "Are you blushing, Ronnie? How darling. Well, perhaps you could take a page from that book and set up a date for tonight. That always seems to cheer you up." 

Yes, Ronald's usual routine was to have a date at least three nights a week. Contrary to popular belief, he didn't sleep with everyone he dated, but he sure enjoyed the interactions that could sometimes lead to sex. The closest he'd gotten to getting laid recently was with the Undertaker. 

He pictured that scarred, beautiful face and those expressive eyes, and his mood plummeted again. He should have just gone for it with him...should have kept going until he got down his pants—and not just for a grope. At least then he wouldn't be sitting here wondering what he was missing out on. Damn, that reaper was hot underneath all that hair and those layers. 

"Ronnie? You're making that face again. Who are you daydreaming about?" 

The blond snapped himself out of it. "Uh, nothing. I was just running over a list in my head." he propped his elbows on the table and put his chin in his hands. "I don't really feel like going on a date tonight." 

He hadn't really felt like dating at all since his encounter with the ancient, in fact. 

Grell looked at him as though he'd just announced he hated cheese. He put a hand flat on Ronald's forehead, checking his temperature. "Are you ill, darling? Dating is one of your favorite things to do!" 

Ronald shrugged. He didn't feel like doing a lot of his favorite things, right now. He didn't want to go dancing, didn't want to go on a date, and he didn't want to go to any parties. All he really wanted to do was the Undertaker, and the ancient had already made it pretty clear that he'd only been using him for a moment of pleasure. He'd given no indication that he was interested in another encounter...in fact, he didn't seem to care whether he ever saw Ronald again or not. 

The blond swallowed and looked down, feeling his throat tighten up. At once, he felt guilty...felt like he should make some calls and apologize to people he'd done this very same thing to. 

"That's it," Grell said decisively, cutting into his reverie, "I'm going to put in a request for you to go home early and have tomorrow off." 

Ronald's brows shot up. "For real? You don't have to do that, Senpai." 

"I beg to differ." Grell flipped his hair back again and he got off the desk. "One of the first things they teach us when we become agents is to watch the behavior of our colleagues and report anything that might lead to compromised judgment and work performance. You're too distracted, darling, and I don't want to see you fall victim to your next assignment's cinematic records because you weren't paying close enough attention." 

Grell smiled and ruffled his hair again. "You are the only one around here that keeps office work bearable, and I want you to be around for a long time. I cannot promise I'll succeed, but the least I can do is put in the request. A day free from work might do you some good, darling." 

The boy managed a smile of his own. "Thanks, Senpai. Even if you can't get Spears-Senpai to go for it, I appreciate the thought." 

~xox~ 

Much to Ronald's surprise, William came to his cubicle some twenty minutes later and he offered him a slip of paper. "Take this to Personnel," he instructed. "It certifies that you have been granted a day's leave of absence. If they have any questions, they can contact me directly." 

Ronald blinked at him. "Wow, seriously? I'm actually getting an unscheduled day off?" The last time he actually got to spend a whole day off without being called in was two weeks ago. 

William's face was impassive as usual. "These things are sometimes necessary. We cannot afford to have an exhausted agent make mistakes, Knox. Be aware as always that should we get backed up, we may require you to come in. I don't believe that will happen, however." 

Ronald took the slip and pocketed it, smiling a little. "Thanks, boss. I'll try to make good use of my time off." 

William inclined his head. "See that you do...and I would advise you to use this time to rest, not to party. Should you be spotted out doing the latter, I cannot give you a pass on the penalties." 

Ron nodded. "Yeah, I understand. Thanks again." 

"Have a good day." William gave a polite nod and left, returning to the corridor leading to his office. 

Ronald stare down at the slip of paper in his hands, reading over the supervisor's handwriting. "Wow, I guess they're really worried about me. I didn't know I was being _that_ sulky." 

He shrugged. It didn't matter; he had the rest of the day and tomorrow off. Usually he'd find that a good reason to celebrate, but he couldn't even muster a hoot of triumph. At least he could get his head together and try to stop dwelling so much on what happened with the Undertaker. 

~xox~ 

He intended to leave Headquarters and go straight home. Instead, Ronald hesitate at the corner of the street and bit his lip. Maybe...maybe he could just check in on the old guy. His stupid pride wouldn't allow him to believe the man really wasn't interested in him. Nobody could look at someone that way and just...fake it...could they? He sighed and checked his watch. The mortuary should be open for visitors by now. He could make up an excuse to drop in on him. He could say he needed more names. The Undertaker would either refuse or demand payment. If he did the latter, it could give Ronald the chance to find out if he really was that good an actor, or if he'd gotten scared.

 The blond snorted. "Yeah, right. The Undertaker...scared. Who am I kidding?" 

But he'd get to see him again. Maybe that's what he really needed, in order to put this in perspective. Maybe he just got caught up in the moment and he only _thought_ he felt something because he was making out with a legend. Hearts could trick people like that...confuse a thrill for something deeper. 

"I don't fall for people just because I make out with them," he insisted. "It's got to be my mind playing tricks on me." 

Well, there was only one way to find out. 

~xox~ 

"Aren't you special," muttered the Undertaker to the body on his table as he slapped his surgical gloves on. "You're my very first client since I got back, my dear. Let's see what we can do to pretty you up. First, I'll have to _open_ you up, though. The yard is paying me nicely to confirm the cause of death, you see."

 He frowned at that. He was charging currency. He ordinarily never did that except to pay for the necessities like utilities, groceries and surgical equipment. He still had enough left in his coffers to keep him afloat for a month; or close to it. 

"Perhaps laughter really is disappearing," he sighed. The one good thing he'd experienced since his return was that unexpected encounter with that attractive young reaper, and he found that tragic in itself. It had been flattering really, to have such a vibrant young thing engage him like that...but he couldn't indulge in such shenanigans. Opening his arms to anyone put him at risk of opening his rusty old heart, and he'd been down that road one time too many in the past. 

"How do humans do it?" he puzzled as he began to prepare his instruments. He glanced at the woman's corpse. "Did you have a sweetheart, dearie? You're pretty enough to attract a few suitors, I think. They said you had family, but no husband or betrothed. Lived with your parents. I wonder if you had a beau that would have eventually snatched you away to become his bride. Such a shame, if that were the case. But your troubles are over now, aren't they?" 

He tugged the sheet covering her body down and he set to work, marking where the first incision would be with a pen. "My policy is to avoid romance," he said conversationally. "It leads to nothing but trouble. When you live as long as we reapers tend to, a bad relationship can haunt you for centuries. I—" 

He heard the bell on his door ring and he put aside the scalpel. "Well, well...you may have some company down here soon. Excuse me while I go and see who that is." 

He removed the surgical gloves and took the stairs up out of the basement laboratory, half-expecting to find another officer of the Yard with another request. He donned his top-hat, hanging on the rack beside the curtain leading into the shop, and he slipped through the barrier to find Ronald Knox standing there. The Undertaker froze for a second, recognizing the Shinigami agent immediately even though he was too far away to see clearly. Ronald had his hands in his pockets and he was looking around with an air of casualty, but it was only skin-deep. He looked up when the mortician entered, and he stared at him. 

~xox~  

_~Say something, stupid. Don't just stand her gaping at him like an idiot. Shit...that feeling's back again, and I can't even see his eyes. I can feel them on me, though.~  
_

"Something I can do for you, Mr. Knox?" 

Ronald looked him up and down, taking in the usual, flowing robes with their overlong sleeves and the beads hanging from the Undertaker's neck. 

_~Yeah, you can take those layers off and spread out on one of these coffins for me, so I can...stop it, Ronnie. Cut it out. He's not that hot. Okay, under the hair and robes he is, but you can keep your cool. You can do this.~  
_

"I'm rather busy with a client," Undertaker went on when Ronald neglected to speak aloud, "so if you don't mind telling me why you're here, I'd appreciate it, chap." 

Ronald swallowed. He was acting like a complete moron and he hated that. He forced himself to stop thinking about what it had felt like to have that tall, lean body pressing against his, and he tried to summon confidence. "Sorry if I interrupted you old man, but I need some more names." 

"I just gave you names, three days ago." The mortician smiled, displaying those perfect white teeth of his. "Thought I made it clear that I'm not going to betray everyone in the Aurora Society to you gents. Not without getting something in return." 

Ronald stepped closer. "I know that. I'm ready to offer you something in return for a couple more of them." 

"Oh?" Undertaker stood his ground. "And what if I say you've got nothing to offer me that I want badly enough to make it a fair trade?" 

The blond smirked, and he started loosening his tie. "I'd say I don't believe you." 

The smile faded, and the ancient took an uncertain step back as Ronald steadily approached. "You're going to have to learn how to take 'no' for an answer, cheeky boy. Put that tie back." 

Ronald dropped said tie on one of the coffins and shook his head, his confidence growing. Undertaker was getting nervous, just like he had the first time he came onto him. "I can take 'no' for an answer, when someone really means it. Toss me out if ya want. That'll teach me." 

His heart was beating so fast already. This gamble seemed to have even bigger stakes than before, because now it was personal. He kept advancing as the Undertaker frowned at him, trying to predict what he would do next. 

"Frustrating lad," muttered the ancient, and then he advanced on Ronald without his boots making so much as a whisper of sound. 

Ronald instinctively tensed when the Undertaker's long, pale hands closed on his upper arms, and his hopes that the mortician intended to kiss him were dashed when he started forcibly pulling him toward the door. 

"I told you, I don't want—" 

Ronald threw one last card into play, desperate to prove he was right. He yanked one arm free of the Undertaker's hold on it and he reached up to knock his top-hat off, cup the back of his head and draw it down for a kiss. His teeth scraped against the Undertaker's as he thrust his tongue into his mouth aggressively, and the mortician went still as death with surprise. Ronald didn't allow his stillness to dissuade him. He caressed the inside of his companion's mouth and stroked his tongue against his persuasively. He felt the lean body shudder slightly, felt his hold on him loosen. He put his arm around his waist once it was freed, pulling him tight against him. Undertaker began to respond to his kiss, his tongue reciprocating Ronald's caress. 

It was still as electrifying as it had been the first time. That same thrill coursed through him, making his body sing with awareness in a nearly esoteric way. Ronald kissed him harder and backed him up against the window beside the front door, sliding his hand down from the back of his head to his chest. He felt his heart beating fast and hard beneath his palm, and he knew the man wasn't faking that. He broke the kiss and looked up at him, reaching up to comb his bangs back from his eyes with his fingers. He searched his bewildered gaze with his own and he smiled. A hint of a blush was coloring the ancient's cheeks. 

"You've got a funny way of seducing people," breathed Ronald, "pretending you don't want it. I've known some girls that like to play hard to get, but not many guys." 

He wasn't usually this pushy...hell, he usually didn't _need_ to be. Most of them caved as soon as he turned on the charm. This reaper, however...this mysterious, damaged man...needed more encouragement than most. Ronald could see that vulnerability in those expressive eyes of his again, and he'd be damned if he'd accept that it was just a put-on. Nobody could fake that. He still wasn't sure exactly what it was he was feeling for this reaper, but he had to find out where it could lead. 

"You aren't saying much," he observed, stroking the soft hair and keeping himself pressed intimately against the taller reaper. "Cat got your tongue?" 

A brief smirk manifested on the Undertaker's lips in response to that bit of turnabout. "No...I'm fairly sure _you've_ got it, Ronnie." 

Appreciating the dry response and assuming it meant he had his consent, Ronald cupped the back of his head again and rose on his tiptoes a bit to kiss him. This time the soft lips animated immediately, and Undertaker's tongue began to gently quest in his mouth. Like before, it took a bit of warming up for the mortician to feel comfortable enough to act on his own. Another little tremor passed through his body, and Ronald put both arms around him to hold him tight. Again, he was stricken by an oddly protective feeling, wishing he could shield this creature from whatever had made him so skittish of intimacy. 

"It wasn't an act, was it?" Ronald said between kisses. "You weren't putting me on that day...you just tried to make it look that way." 

Undertaker shivered again, his hands resting on Ronald's shoulders as if he couldn't decide whether to embrace him or push him away. "How do you know...I'm not putting you on now?" 

Ron smiled. "Because I can tell a real reaction from a fake one. You were pretty convincing when I went to leave that day, but I've got your number now." 

He demonstrated his point by moving his lips along his cheek to his temple, and blowing into the shell of his ear peeking out from between the silver locks of hair. The ancient's swift gasp and dismayed sound gratified him, and he nuzzled aside the hair to expose the ear further for some play. This time Undertaker did push against his shoulders a little, when Ronald began to nibble his earlobe. A breathy giggle escaped the mortician's lips and he squirmed fitfully in place. 

"L-little terror," he accused unsteadily. "D-don't...do that..." 

The demand was followed by a groan, and Ronald felt him harden against his hip. The robes concealed it more than that long shirt from the other day had, but it was still pretty evident. There was something fascinating about the feeling, and Ronald was tempted to reach down and grope him. He took his time though, avoiding letting his touch get too familiar until he had him where he wanted him again. 

"You don't have to pull away," he insisted, his lips moving seductively against the Undertaker's ear, "and ya don't have to pretend it's easy for you, either. So you've got a little social anxiety and you're kind of shy. I think it's cute." 

"'Cute'," scoffed the mortician. "And yet you're...providing this little...encore to get more information from me." 

Ronald paused, and he drew back to look him in the eyes. "Actually, that was a lie. Nobody told me to come here and try to get more names from you." He smiled ruefully and lowered his eyes. "That was just an excuse I came up with, because I wanted to see you again. I didn't want to believe you really meant it when ya brushed me off like that. I don't even know why it bothered me so much...I've done the same thing to plenty of people I've dated. Like you said, I've got plenty of other opportunities." 

The ancient smirked. "So I wounded your pride, is that it? Couldn't bear the thought of someone dismissing you?" 

Ron shrugged, and he slid his hands up the Undertaker's sides, making him tense up and huff softly. "Ticklish there too, huh? Maybe it's pride...but I've had my pride hurt before and it didn't feel like this. Like I told ya before; I think I really like you." 

He looked up at him again, searching those wary, mysterious eyes. "And I think you might like me too...just a little." 

The languid eyes seemed to brighten a little with mischief. "Think so, do you? I can't say as I know you well enough to confirm that, love." 

Ronald sighed as if dejected, but he caught onto the hint of teasing in his voice. "Then I guess I'll just have to give you more reasons to try. We _could_ get to know each other better, ya know. I don't have to jump your bones." He reached out to stroke the single braid in the long silver hair. "But I know you like my kisses, don't you?" He winked. 

The mortician sighed, his gaze becoming guarded again. "Are you certain that's a good idea, boy? You're flirting with a madman, after all." 

"I _work_ with a madman all the time," snorted Ronald. "You aren't much worse than my Senpai, 'Taker." 

Undertaker repeated the shortened version of his name under his breath, looking a bit perplexed. Ronald kept smiling, hoping he was wearing him down. The ancient hesitantly slid one hand up his shoulder to his neck, before running his long black nails through Ronald's hair. He did it with a somewhat awed expression, as if it was a novelty for him to touch another living person this way. He smiled, but it wasn't the confident, semi-mad sort of smile Ronald was used to seeing on him. 

"To what end, Ronnie? What do you expect to get from an old codger like me?" 

"That's what I want to find out," said the blond without hesitation. "I mean, I don't know if we could fit together, but I do know I want you, and I'm willing find out. You've kind of been on my mind a lot." 

That was a lie. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about him since he left his shop, that day. 

Undertaker stared at him for so long that Ronald felt like squirming. "Well? What do you think about having a hot young thing like me on your arm for a while?" 

The ancient snorted and chuckled softly. "Not a very modest fellow...or a very wise one." 

He was wavering though, and Ronald thought he could seal the deal. The blond cupped his host's pale face in his hands and he drew him in for a kiss. He wasn't surprised to feel him tense up at first, but he didn't pull away and his lips softened against his quickly. Their tongues met and caressed, and the world once again felt like it was dropping out from underneath Ronald. He slid his hands down over the taller man's shoulders, gliding over silken hair that fell over them. In a gesture he thought might find comforting, he took Undertaker's hands in his and squeezed them. 

"Come on," he said when he broke the kiss, and he tugged the mortician's hands to guide him away from the window. 

"To where, exactly?" The curiosity in his voice was laced with reluctance. 

"I want to kiss ya for a while, and it's more comfortable sitting down." 

The Undertaker hesitated. Ronnie chuckled. "Don't worry; I'm not going to try to get down your pants again...yet. I can wait. We can try dating and if you still feel like it's a mistake after the third one, then I guess I'll back off. Pretty fair and simple, right?" 

The mortician started to grin. "And if you do manage to convince me after date number three? What then?" 

Ron didn't even pretend to think about it. "Then I get down your pants again." 

Undertaker chortled with delight, despite his expressed misgivings. "You really are a brave little fellow." He followed with less resistance, and he sat down beside him on the same coffin they'd made out on the last time Ronald was there. 

The Dispatch agent pulled his glasses off and stuck them in his pocket, before scooting close to his romantic interest and releasing one of his hands. "You never know what you can get, if you're too afraid to go for it." 

With that said, he grabbed a handful of the mortician's robe and pulled him to him, kissing him passionately. 

~xox~ 

Undertaker wondered why in Styx he was letting this little charmer do this again. Curiosity, boredom, loneliness—or perhaps it was all three? He did enjoy his kisses, and he didn't suffer the same anxiety he had the first time Ronald made advances on him. He wasn't overbearing or sloppy with his kisses. He traded dominance of them without any prompting from Undertaker, and his hands surprisingly didn't start creeping up his thigh as he half-expected it too. He couldn't even say he would have stopped him if it did. The memory of touching and being touched so intimately made Undertaker swell further in his pants, and were he not so conflicted, he might have taken the initiative and encouraged some heavy petting, himself. 

As it was, he really didn't quite know what to do with his hands. It annoyed him that he would still suffer this sort of uncertainty and doubt, so soon after their last encounter. He started to touch the blond's knee, but then he changed his mind for fear his hand might decide to wander without his conscious direction. He opted to put both arms around him instead—gingerly at first, and then with more confidence. The boy's lips and tongue were working magic on him, making him forget how uncomfortable he was with living contact. He could dance with his dollies, he could hold them and talk to them, but they were cold and unresponsive. Ronald was warm...warm and _very_ responsive to his every touch. He was a much better conversationalist, too. 

He lost count of the minutes as the agent worshipped his mouth with his kisses and ran his hands over his body, but he was breathless when their lips finally parted again, and he could feel the heat in his face to match the flush now gracing Ronald's. 

"Better come up for some air," said the blond huskily. "If we keep kissing like that, I'll want to get down your pants again and I agreed not to try that until after the third date." 

The mortician found it funny that the lad seemed to be treating him like a lady, and he chuckled. "Right. No hiking up my skirts 'till I've decided what to do with you." 

Ronald chuckled too. "Glad I could make you laugh a little." He took his hands again and squeezed them. "I don't think of you as a girl, by the way. I may call you 'beautiful', but there's really nothing girly about that body of yours." He looked him over with a sigh, and the mortician felt like he was undressing him with his eyes. 

"Good to know." His mouth felt dry, and he tried to work some moisture back into it. So bold, those young eyes...so caressing. 

"So, I've got the whole day off tomorrow," Ronald was saying. "What do you say I come by when you've finished with your...uh...friend downstairs, and we go out to eat?" 

Undertaker raised his brows and tapped the Shinigami tracking collar around his neck meaningfully, reminding the lad that he was restricted on when he could leave his shop and how far he could go. 

"Tsst...damn, I forgot about that," sighed Ronald. Undertaker could practically see the light bulb click on in his head when his eyes lit up and he snapped his fingers. "Takeout. I could order something either here in London or in the Shinigami realm and just bring it to ya. What kind of food do you like?" 

The mortician grinned. "Usually the cooked variety."

Ronald laughed at that and gave his hands another squeeze. "I guess that leaves sushi out. How about...no...you probably have a more 'refined pallet' than that, as Spears-Senpai would say. What about um...seafood?" 

"No need to fret over it, my dear," Undertaker assured him. "I think you'll find I'll eat nearly any sort of food you put in front of me, provided it doesn't have a pulse. I do enjoy the food at the pub a few blocks away, though. It's a bit out of my allotted range limitations, however." 

"Hey, you like pub food! See, we've already found something we've got in common. How about I stop by there on my way over tomorrow and have them wrap some up to go? Just give me the street address and tell me what you like to order from there. I could pick us up something to drink too, if ya want. Got a favorite poison?" 

"Brandy," offered the mortician after a moment's thought. "I'm fresh out." 

"No problem. Mine's gin with tonic and a little lemon juice. I like ale too, but it gives me gas if I drink too much of it." 

The mortician chuckled behind his hand. "Do tell. No ale for you, then." 

"Yeah, I wouldn't want to do that to ya. I'd offer to cook something for you myself, but I wouldn't want to do _that_ to you, either. Slingby-Senpai still swears my spaghetti sauce could peel paint off a wall." 

Undertaker laughed again. Ronald might claim not to be very good with jokes, but he certainly came up with some witty and entertaining comments. He frowned a little. He really _was_ starting to like the cheerful fellow. He was enjoying his company, and it occurred to him that he would be sad to see him leave. 

"Hey, what's with the gloom all the sudden?" Ronald peered at him curiously. "Was it something I said?" 

The ancient smirked ruefully, lowering his gaze. "Not at all, love. You're delightful." 

Ronald released one of his hands to caress his face. "Sudden bad thought? It's so weird to see you look serious, so often." 

"Even the clowns have their bad days," excused the Undertaker, smiling at him again.   "But I'll try to remember that about your spaghetti, if I should ever need a cheap alternative to paint thinner." 

"I'll whip some up for you in a jiffy, if you ever do," promised Ronald. "What about games? Do you like cards?" 

"I'm not opposed to a game of cards," agreed the mortician. "I'm also fond of chess, and trivia challenges." 

"Well, you'd probably beat me at the trivia. You've been around a lot longer and seen a lot more." 

Undertaker nodded. "Indeed. We should keep it fair with a game of chance, if we play against each other." 

"Hey, I'm not bad at strategy," said Ronald. "I might stand a chance against you with chess." 

The mortician grinned. "A chance to get your bum kicked, perhaps." 

Ronald looked like he wanted to object to that, but he changed his mind and sighed. "Yeah, okay. I can see that happening. You've got the whole 'mad genius' thing going for you." 

Tickled once more, Undertaker snickered softly. It seemed to come easier for him again, and he knew he had his charming company to thank for that. With the laughter came a renewed sense of confidence. Feeling morose always wore on his psyche that way, making him doubt himself. He reached out to comb his fingers through the boys soft, feathered blond hair, finding it interesting the way it darkened to black at the bottom. Ronald evidently enjoyed the touch, because his eyelids drooped and his expression softened with pleasure. 

"Feels nice," confirmed the agent. "You've got a nice touch, 'Taker." 

Oh, if only he knew how much effort it took for him to conduct such a simple touch—let alone the sort of touching he'd done the last time Ronald was there. Undertaker chose to enjoy the moment, feeling a whisper of his former self returning to the surface. Ronald might be shocked by how sensual he could be, if his former self were to trade places with his current self for a day. Then again, perhaps not. The agent had asked if he used to be a playboy, after all. Minus the speech patterns, Ronald in some ways reminded Undertaker of himself in his youth. He'd once had that cocksure charm and confidence...and he'd once romanced plenty of reapers and humans alike into his embrace and from there, his bed. 

"What are you thinking?" Ronald was watching him with interest, his eyes still sleepy with felicity at his caress. 

The mortician hesitated, but not for long. "I'm thinking I'd like to kiss you again." 

Ron smiled and tapped a finger against his lips. "You know where my mouth is at, and ya know I won't stop you." 

Grinning again in spite of himself, Undertaker closed the distance to make good on his desire. This time he felt bold enough to be more assertive, and he spread his fingers and cupped the back of Ronald's head to hold it still. He kissed him the way he would like to make love to him, if he ever allowed it to go that far, starting with gentle pressure and tracing the shapely silk of his lips with his tongue, before tenderly invading between them to dance inside of his mouth. Nearly forgotten skills came back to him, and he knew Ronald appreciated his efforts when the boy clutched at his shoulders with sudden desperation and moaned into his mouth. 

He allowed himself one simple pittance for gathering the courage to take initiative, and he placed a hand on Ronald's knee and stroked it. The younger reaper's legs parted a bit—probably to relieve the increased pressure in his trousers—and his hands slid over Undertaker's shoulders and chest. Another delightfully ardent sound came from Ronald, swallowed up in the ancient's persuasive kiss. He let it go on for a bit, until he started to feel like he might be tempted to begin plucking open the buttons on Ronnie's shirt to bare his chest. 

Undertaker pulled away slowly, gazing at his guest with sensually heavy-lidded eyes. He smiled at the sight of him; Ronald's eyes were still closed, his lips parted and kiss-swollen, his face suffused with a blush of desire. Seeing him so bewitched made the Undertaker remember what it was like to take a lover, and he thought he could be quite happy making love with this reaper in any way Ronald chose. 

"Wow," breathed the blond, slowly opening his eyes to stare at him. "Just...wow. I already knew you were a good kisser, but that was...I think my mouth almost had an orgasm." 

Undertaker snorted with amusement, pleased that he'd managed to give the boy a better taste of the sort of lover he could be if he could only bend the bars of his mental prison enough to let it out. "Happy to oblige, love." 

He took his hand off his knee, mindful of how easy it could be to forget himself and get caught up in naughty touching again. Not that he was of a puritanical mind; he'd suffered no shame in the past when he took lovers, and it wasn't shame that motivated him to restrain himself now. It was caution...and perhaps fear. Real, honest intimacy was the one thing that could still scare him, for reasons he wasn't in a rush to explain. The cruelty of betrayal was more painful than any cut from a death scythe. 

"I do need to finish what I began in the lab," sighed the ancient with reluctance. "Not that I wouldn't prefer to sit here cuddling and smooching you 'till sunset, but if you're sincere about this date thingy, I should get back to it so I can be done with it by tomorrow afternoon." 

Ronald smiled, looking a little disappointed but not resentful. "Yeah, I don't want to keep you all day...well, I do, but I know you've got work to do. For what it's worth, I'm glad you're back to doing what ya love; even if I think it's a weird hobby." 

Undertaker smiled back. "Me too, my dear, me too...and I'm rather glad you aren't put off by the weirdness of my loves in life. Let's see if that lasts." 

"I don't back down from a challenge," reminded the blond with a cocky smirk. He leaned in to give him a quick smooch on the mouth, before hopping up. He looked down at the protruding crotch of his trousers with a little grimace, and he scratched the back of his head. "Uh, mind if I wait around long enough for that to go down again? It's kind of your fault, anyhow." 

The mortician huffed a laugh and waved a long-nailed hand. "Be my guest, Ronnie. I wouldn't want you to embarrass yourself." 

Ronald grinned sheepishly. 

~xox~

 

-to be continued    


	3. Chapter 3

It started out as a really swell day. Ronald started to react to his alarm clock, recalled that he had the day off and snuggled back under the blankets with a happy sigh. He had a date tonight; a date with the Undertaker. He never would have picked the Mortician as someone that could make him so giddy, but life was funny sometimes. He drifted back off to sleep, and his dreams were full of long silver hair, pale-lashed Shinigami eyes and an infectious laugh.

Then he woke up much, much later and he realized he'd slept the day away.

Upon seeing that it was after four, he cursed, sprained his toe jumping out of bed and hit his head on the medicine cabinet in his bathroom when he went to brush his teeth. Smarting in two places and sporting a little red mark on his forehead, the young reaper got into the shower. He managed to scald himself, forgetting how quickly the water heated up in his flat. Yelps and curses filled the bathroom as Ronald adjusted the water temperature, and his skin was quite red when he finished up and got out.

He managed to get his hair dried and styled without suffering any major catastrophes, picked out a nice outfit without finding any stains or tears, and got his shoes and socks on with only minor trouble from his smarting toe. By the time he'd finished inspecting himself in the full-length mirror on his closet wall, both his toe and his head were healed up. He called up the Undertaker to be sure he hadn't forgotten about their date and to check on his progress with his latest "client".

"South London Mortuary," said the mortician's scratchy, broken voice on the other line.

Ronald grinned, knowing how different that voice could sound when its owner dropped the "creepy old man" routine. "Hey, guess who."

Undertaker's voice changed, becoming smoother and deeper—and giving Ronald a pleasant little tingle in the process. "Ah, Mr. Knox. I was beginning to think you'd bow out."

"Not a chance," replied the blond, checking his watch. "So how's the stiff going?"

There was a faint chuckle on the other end. "Fine, just fine, thank you. In fact, she's just about ready to be collected. You could come over at any time...if you like."

The hesitation and softening of his voice at the end of the last sentence wasn't lost on Ronald. "Of course, 'I like'. I'll stop by the pub and get our dinner on the way. I wrote down what you said ya like."

"Very kind of you," answered the older reaper. "I look forward to it, love."

"Me too. See ya in a while!" Ronald hung up the phone and he whistled a tune. The day started off a little rocky with his klutz attack, but it was looking up again.

~xox~

"Okay...Reuben? Check. Fried pickles? Check. Ham and Swiss on rye? Check. Chips? Check." Ronald went through the wrapped items to ensure it was all there, before putting them carefully back into the cloth sack. Most London pubs didn't offer food to go, but the Undertaker was a regular here and all Ronald had to do was mention his name to convince the pub owners to wrap up the meal for him. He made sure the other sack had the bottles he'd asked for and he smiled and winked at the young woman behind the counter. "All right, what's the damage?"

She was blushing shyly at him, and she appeared confused. "Damage, sir?"

Remembering where he was at, he tried it again without the slang. "How much is the bill?" He pulled out his coin purse, where he kept all of his British money.

"Oh! That'll be three shillings, eight pence, sir."

Ronald counted out the coins and handed them to her, and because she was pretty and it was simply habitual, he added another pence as a tip. "Hey, thanks a lot. Nice place you've got here."

She thanked him, watching with that maidenly blush as he went out the door.

The Dispatch agent was practically skipping with eagerness. He had good food, good liquor and a hot date. Spears-Senpai had warned him not to go out partying when he supposed to be taking the day off to rest, but it wasn't like he'd be going _out_ , out. He was just spending a quiet evening in a mortuary, having dinner and hanging out with a guy he never thought he'd look twice at. That alone made him want to laugh, and he could just imagine the look on William's face if he found out.

He was so distracted that he didn't notice he was being followed. He took a shortcut down an alley, and that was when he heard a voice that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Reaper."

Ronald stopped and turned, his groceries clutched in his arms. A well-dressed gentleman who was probably as tall as the Undertaker was approaching him. He wore a top-hat and he had a cane. Ronald saw the glint of a crimson glow in his eyes—narrow eyes set in a pale, angular face. His first thought was that it was that Phantomhive kid's butler, but then the stranger tipped his hat up and glared at him with malice.

His day rapidly went downhill from that point on.

~xox~

The mortician checked the old Swiss clock hanging on the wall of his ship again, for perhaps the third time since the young agent contacted him. Ronald should have been there an hour ago, and he hadn't phoned to say he would be late. He recalled hearing Spears complain before that Ronald wasn't the most punctual lad, so he tried not to jump to conclusions. Nobody had ever pursued him with so much tenacity before—at least, not after his retirement. It then stood to reason that the boy wasn't going to stand him up...unless he was trying to pay him back for the hurt he'd given him after their first encounter together.

"Don't think that way, old chap," admonished the ancient to himself. But then, Ronald was a self-admitted "player", and Undertaker had once been one himself, if he wasn't mistaking the meaning of the term. Such a lifestyle could eventually lead to very bad repercussions, no matter how innocently one thought they pursued romance. Especially when one finally fell for someone, only to find they were...  

His hand went to the scar around his neck, and a painful memory rushed to the surface again. The look on his face...he had wanted to kill him. Nearly did, in fact. It took almost a year for the injuries from that confrontation to heal. Once they did, he could no longer look at his fellow reapers or the organization they worked for the same way again, and that was when he put down the glasses for good and said his goodbyes. What a wretched thing he'd become. Scars on his body...scars on his soul.

Rather than wallow in self-pity, he'd found a trade he enjoyed and he learned to become someone else...someone that barely resembled the reaper he once was. Indeed, he even began to _forget_ the reaper he once was, as the years dragged on. That was fine by him, because remembering his past meant remembering the worst parts of it along with the best, and the bad memories hurt too much.

"And yet here I am feeling sorry for myself, all over again." The mortician shook his head and chuckled. "Thought I learned my lesson about that."

His sharp ears picked up on the sound of someone stumbling against his door outside, and he perked up. Ronald said he would pick up their dinner, so perhaps his arms were full and he was struggling with the doorknob. Berating himself for being so eager even as he hurried to the door to help, Undertaker pulled it open to find a shocking sight before him.

Ronald Knox stood there on wobbly legs, with a torn, dripping grocer bag in one hand and a rather misshapen looking one in the other. His hair was mussed and sticking out in places like someone had grabbed handfuls of it in a struggle. One eye was swelling shut rapidly, his bottom lip was fat, torn and bleeding, and he appeared to have multiple lacerations all over him. The right leg of his brown trousers was ripped from knee to ankle and wet with blood. His left shoe was missing and it looked like his sock was about to come off, flopping limply from the toes like a dead fish as he tried to take a step forward.  

Despite the sorry state he was in, the boy gave a lopsided, bloodied smile and lifted one of the bags like a trophy. "I brought...dinner," he announced, and then he started to fall forward.

Undertaker caught him before he could hit the floor, snapping out of his surprise just in time. The stubborn lad didn't let go of the bags in his hands, even as he passed out. Undertaker heard broken glass crunching together in one of them, and when the smell of alcohol reached him, he understood why the bag was torn. He pushed it aside and he gently rolled his companion onto his back, cradling his upper body.

"What in the name of Death happened to you, boy?" whispered the ancient.

No reaper did this—at least, not with a death scythe. Some of the cuts were already healing, but others appeared to be festering. The mortician scraped a long nail over one of the deeper cuts, collecting some of the puss to examine it more closely. He brought it to his nose and sniffed, making a face at the sour smell of it. The marks on Ronnie's body looked like claw marks.

"Demon," guessed the Undertaker. Shinigami and demons naturally didn't get along. He lifted Ronald carefully into his arms and got to his feet with him, shutting the door with a booted foot and nudging the hatch lock shut. He somehow managed to wrangle the deadbolt into place without dropping his passenger in the process, and he took him to the back to see to his injuries.

~xox~

"N-no...th' fire's too hot," complained Ronald dazedly. His joints ached and he was suddenly treated to a burning hot pain in his leg. He screamed and thrashed, feeling like his body was on fire.

"Easy now," soothed a familiar masculine voice. "So sorry for that my dear, but it had to be done. I was hoping you'd stay konked for it."

"'Taker?" His throat was parched and he could taste the tinny blood in his mouth.

"That's right. Here, sip this."

Something cool and smooth was pressed to his lips, and a hand cradled his head to lift it a bit. He tasted cool water against his lips and he drank a couple of sips, his throat aching with the swallowing motions even as his parched mouth was thankful for the moisture. The container was taken away and the hand eased his head back down, stroking his hair soothingly before retreating again. He was lying on something hard, and there was a pillow beneath his head. Ronald tried to open his eyes, and he found the left one wouldn't comply. He groaned and tried to bring the retired reaper's face into focus.

Undertaker was hovering over him, hatless, and it seemed he'd pulled his hair back into a ponytail to keep it out of the way. It came as some surprise to Ronald that the Undertaker was wearing a pair of wire-framed glasses, and he blinked his good eye in confusion, even as he admired the way he looked in them. The light in the room was blessedly dim, affording just enough illumination for him to make out his love interest's pale features.

"Thought ya...gave up your glasses?" he mumbled groggily.

Undertaker glanced up at him from his task of spreading some sort of salve over some bandaging, his eyes glinting over the top of the spectacle frames. "Mm? Oh, these are human manufactured. They can only go so far to correct Shinigami vision, of course, but they do assist enough to make delicate tasks a bit easier. Now brace yourself, love. It's going to sting when I apply this wrapping to your leg. Sorry."

Ronald parted his lips to ask a question, but it flew out of his mind as the mortician grasped his right calf with one hand and pressed the salved strip of bandage over the gash in it with the other. Ronald cried out, tossing his head as a fresh bout of agony scalded him from calf to crotch. He half-twisted his body and punched the pillow his head was resting on. Undertaker held his calf firmly, preventing him from yanking it away. He worked quickly and efficiently, wrapping more bandaging around the one he had applied to secure the poultice over the wound.

"Try to be still, agent," instructed the ancient, his mannerism clinical and detached as he worked. "We're nearly done with this part."

Trembling, Ronald bit his knuckle and did his best to comply. The pain eased to a more bearable level when his companion finished wrapping the calf, and he was able to draw a shaken breath. Undertaker retreated again, and Ronald rolled onto his back again, trying to lift his head and see what he was doing. "What...happened?"

Undertaker was measuring out something in a syringe, holding it and the little bottle up to the light. He kept his eyes on his task as he murmured: "I was hoping you could tell me. You showed up at my door looking like a tomcat that had just fought off a bulldog."

Undertaker dropped his clinical mannerisms for a moment, smirking at him sidelong as he withdrew the needle from the medicine bottle and replaced the cap on the latter. "Tough little kitty, aren't you?"

"I don't go down easy," agreed the blond. Speech was coming easier to him, now that the cut in his lip was closing and the swelling was going down. He dropped his head back down on the pillow with a groan, turning it gingerly to have a look around. "Hey, are we in your basement? You're not thinking of turning me into a doll, are ya?"

"Don't be silly," chuckled the ancient. "I've put that life behind me, and you would need to be dead to become a dolly. Besides, I doubt the process would work on a reaper." He approached with the syringe in hand.

"What's that?" asked Ronald warily.

"Antibiotics," answered the Undertaker. "Specifically developed for Shinigami, to treat infections caused by demon venom. Not to worry; I'll give you something to ease the pain and lower your fever after this, and then we can discuss what happened to you. Or you can begin telling me right now if you like; because the pain medication is going to make you sleepy."

"Oh. How do you know it was a demon that got me?" Ronald looked up at him curiously, his wariness fading. If the man wanted to do him harm, he would have done so by now and the worst of his pains were already fading.

The mortician smirked. "I've seen my fair share of demon attacks in my day, chap. One of my top fields of study back in the day was reaper and demon anatomy, along with Shinigami medicine. I wanted to be a physician, but they found my skills in reaping more valuable. Dispatch already had plenty of medical staff, and not enough collection agents. So they assigned me to that department instead."

It made sense to Ronald, and it did explain a few things about Undertaker's love of medicine and science. It seemed important that this recluse had shared such a personal thing with him, and he smiled. "Dr. Undertaker. That'd be cool. I know _I'd_ go to you."

"Ah, but then we couldn't date," pointed out the mortician with a grin. "Conflict of interests, you see. Now roll over onto your side, so that I can administer this."

Realizing he intended to stick him in the butt, Ronald became aware that he was in nothing but his boxers—save the bandages dressing his torso, arms and legs. "Uh, couldn't ya just stick me in the arm or something?"

Undertaker gave a pointed glance at the bandaged limbs. "I could try, but that wouldn't be a very productive way to do it, seeing as the needle would have to pierce layers of wrapping and I can't see where the injuries are. It would also contaminate the needle. Trust me, this way is much better."

"Oh." Ronald blushed. "Yeah, I see your 'point'."

The mortician tilted his head and smiled. "Bashful now? After how you made your interest known to me, _now_ you're shy?"

"Well, it's different when we're fooling around," excused the blond. All the sudden _he_ was the shy one and _Undertaker_ was the confident one.

"Come now, I'll admire your bum later," insisted the ancient. He set the needle on a try by the stool he was sitting on and he procured a cotton ball from a jar, before dampening it with a bottle marked: " _Witch hazel Extract_ ". He held up the cotton ball and raised a brow. "Go on, then, roll over a bit for me."

Ronald sighed and struggled onto his side, facing away from the older man. He kept it to himself that he was kind of a baby when it came to needles. He could suck it up with punches, kicks, cuts and abrasions, but needles freaked him out a little. He closed his eyes tightly as the Undertaker pulled his boxers down to expose his right hip and buttock, blushing again in embarrassment. He jumped a little when he felt the cold astringent being rubbed on the side of his butt cheek, and he squeezed the pillow in anticipation.

It was over before he knew it. He felt rubber-encased fingers pinch the spot firmly, followed by a brief sting that lasted for all of two heartbeats. His boxers were tugged back up and he heard something get dropped onto the tray. He turned his head to look over his bandaged shoulder at his benefactor. "That's _it_?"

The mortician smiled and nodded. "Indeed. Now, why don't you tell me what happened, while I prepare your pain medication?"

Ronald sighed, relieved to have that part over with. He squirmed onto his back and looked up at the drab, cobwebbed ceiling, trying to remember everything. "I was heading here with dinner and I went to take a short-cut. Some guy followed me and called me out halfway down an alley-way. Turned out he was a demon...and he was really pissed off about something. He came at me and I barely got the chance to put the groceries down before he slammed me into the wall. Managed to get my death scythe out, but he had me pinned and he was already tearing into me."

Undertaker nodded, rummaging through his supplies for the medication he wanted. "And you didn't sense his presence before he attacked? I thought you were better trained than that, Ronnie."

"Well, my mind was on other things," excused the blond. "You're a pretty distracting guy."

Undertaker chuckled. He began to measure a dose of medication with a different syringe than the one he'd used before. "Did he say anything, or was this simply a random attack?"

"Well, he knew I was a reaper. At first I thought he was just mad because I was on his 'turf', but then he said something about me 'making advances' on his mistress."

The ancient frowned and glanced at him. "This fellow didn't happen have had a black cane on his person, did he?"

Ron nodded, wincing as the motion made his stiff neck throb. "Yeah, that's right. Tall...pale...black hair. Thought he was Michaelis at first, but then I got a look at his face. Never saw him before."

"And he said that you were making advances on his mistress," mused Undertaker. "Tell me, when you picked up our dinner, did you happen to flirt with a pretty young lady with brown curls and hazel eyes? She'd be one of the barmaids."

Ronald winced. "Yeah, that sounds like the girl that sold me the stuff. I don't think I was flirting...much...but I gave her a little tip. Didn't know she had a demon boyfriend that'd get so hostile over it. Man, all I did was smile at her...maybe I winked. It's kind of impulsive. I don't even realize I do it half the time. You know them?"

"Indeed I do," answered the mortician with a nod. "I _am_ a regular there, after all. That would be Miss Betsy and her butler, Reginald. He's rather a jealous sort...doesn't much care for men that might distract her attention away from him."

"B-but all I did was smile and tip her," sputtered Ronald. "Jeez, how insecure can a guy _be_?"

"In Reggie's case? Very. I'm afraid he's not so stoic as our friend Sebastian. The contract between him and his mistress is still fresh...tenuous. He doesn't want her slipping from his grasp before he's finished plumping her up, and given the demise of her twin, he probably sees all men that show an interest in her as a potential threat. Other cheek, please."

This time Ronald didn't argue. He painfully rolled onto his other side as the mortician circled around the table with a freshly dabbed cotton-ball and the new syringe. "What happened to her sister?"

Undertaker tugged his underwear down again and prepared his other buttock for the shot. "Raped and murdered before her sister's eyes. I could feel her death agony from here, and the demon...well, he sensed Betsy's emotional agony and fear. He showed up before they got around to doing her in the same way—not to 'save' her, mind, but to give himself the opportunity for a contract. He wouldn't have had much time to devour her soul before Dispatch came to collect her sister's records. As you know, Shinigami don't usually interfere with demonic contracts. It's the best way for a demon to procure a meal without having to fight a reaper over it."

Ronald already knew as much, but he still found Betsy's story fascinating. "How do you know all this? I mean about that girl and her pet demon?" He winced a little as the shot went in, but like before, it was over with quickly.

Undertaker straightened Ronald's boxers again before returning to his stool and putting the used syringe next to its mate. He pulled his gloves off and dropped them in a bucket as the agent rolled onto his back again. "As I said; I sensed her sister's death. I can't always predict mortal death coming seeing as I no longer have access to the death lists, but I can feel it when it happens, nonetheless. I arrived in time to see him finishing off the assailants, and by then the contract was already sealed. Nothing I could have done, even if I'd wanted to."

"But you tried to interfere with that Phantomhive kid's contract," reasoned the blond. "Why him, and not her? Was it just because you've been his family's informant for so long?"

"Partly."

He didn't elaborate further than that, and Ronald didn't push him for more information. He was already beginning to feel the effects of the drugs he'd been given, and he yawned as a pleasant warmth spread through him, chasing away the pain. "Will I have scars from this?"

"No," assured the mortician. "The damage from the claws will take longer than normal injuries to heal, but they _will_ heal without leaving marks, with time."

"That's good." Ronald saw the older reaper look away pensively, and he realized how that must have sounded. "Not that all scars are bad. I mean, I like yours."

Undertaker looked at him again, his expressive eyes faintly wistful. "Do you?"

 "If I didn't, I wouldn't have gone through so much trouble for a date with you." Ronald smirked...or tried to. His lips were starting to feel a little numb like the rest of him. "Did...did any of the stuff...make it?" He started to yawn again.

"What 'stuff' do you mean, love?"

"Th' food," mumbled the boy sleepily.

A hand stroked his hair soothingly. "I'm afraid not, my dear, but that's okay."

"Damn." Ronald blinked, fighting to stay awake. "Sorry I ruined our date."

"You did nothing wrong," assured the ancient. "Perhaps we can try again another time, when you've recovered."

Ronald nodded, his eyes slipping shut again. "I'd like that. Tried to save th' food for ya, but I think I fell on it at one point. All smushed."

The Undertaker chuckled. "Not to worry. My pantry is stocked, so I won't be going hungry. Just rest now."

"Did...th' alcohol at lease...make it?"

"Not so much. I can pick some up on my next allotted day out, though. It's fine, Ronnie."

Ronald grumbled in annoyance. "Stupid...demon."

He lost consciousness after that, drifting off to sleep.

~xox~

Undertaker gazed down at the Dispatch agent on his table, and he scooted closer to hover over him. "What a determined thing you are," he whispered.

The silly lad had prioritized their date over his own health. Even on the verge of collapse, he hadn't let go of those bloody sandwiches and he managed to shuffle his way to his doorstep with them. Foolish of him, but flattering nonetheless.

In fact, now that he knew who was responsible for doing this to him, he felt inclined to ensure a second transgression against Ronald would not happen. First though, he needed to get the boy to his own people so that they could see to it he got plenty of rest and care. They would begin searching for him if Undertaker kept him here without informing them, and they were likely to draw the wrong conclusions if they discovered him in this condition in his shop.

The ancient stared at his sleeping guest for a moment, before acting on impulse and lowering his mouth to the dry, parted lips. He kissed them briefly before straightening up again, allowing one small liberty for himself. "I'm not worth it, you know," he murmured to the slumbering agent, "but I'm touched."

He left the basement and went upstairs to his shop to use the phone. Sitting down at his desk, he transformed the calling device's rotary from mortal numerals to glowing, Shinigami ones, and he dialed Dispatch.

"Hi, hi," he greeted in his usual half-morbid, half-clownish voice. "Undertaker, here. I've got a stray for you chaps to come pick up. He's a bit under the weather now, but I've patched him up for you."

~xox~

William arrived with the medics to collect Ronald from the Undertaker's shop, and he spoke with the mortician as they went downstairs to transfer him to a stretcher and carry him out. "How did Agent Knox end up here, at your shop?"

Undertaker shrugged and grinned, spreading his hands. He was once more in his customary attire, complete with top-hat and void of glasses or ponytail. "He walked, I imagine...or stumbled. All I know is I heard him shuffling around outside and when I opened the door to look, he fell in flat on his face. He had this in his hand."

He offered the grocer sack to William—minus half the order. "My guess is the boy went out for a bite to take home and he got jumped on the way."

"By a demon," mused William as he checked the crushed product within. He knew that Ronald liked mortal pub food, so it wasn't beyond reason that he'd slipped over to this realm to procure some for dinner. "Interesting. Did he tell you if this creature had a motive beyond hatred for reapers?"

"Since when has a demon ever needed a motive to attack a reaper?" Undertaker chuckled dryly. "But the boy did say he mentioned something about him making advances on his contracted lady. Mr. Knox seemed genuinely confused by that, so it's just as likely he only opened a door or something for the girl and the demon took it the wrong way. Said he'd never seen the fellow before and he didn't get much chance to defend himself before he started chomping into him."

"I see." William wrote it down in his notebook. "Strange that he would come to you for aid before returning to his own dimension to seek ours."

"Maybe the lad was too weakened from his injuries to portal out," suggested Undertaker. "He was in quite a state when he arrived. Must have only happened a few blocks away."

"Yes, I've already sent agents to investigate the traces of demon taint in the area." William glanced up from his notes. "Is there anything else you can share with us about this incident, sir?"

Undertaker shook his head. "Nothing springs to mind, chap. Oh, there is _one_ thing." He held up a bone-pale finger and dug into his robes, producing a folded note. "I've written down everything I've done to treat him. Might want to pass that on to your medics for their records. I'm sure they can handle the rest."

William took the slip of paper and opened it, scanning the scrawling text briefly before putting it into his pocket. He closed his notebook and gave the mortician a respectful nod. "You have our thanks."

The medic team was now coming out from the back part of the building, where the Undertaker's living quarters and underground lab entrance were located. Ronald was completely out of commission, snoring softly and oblivious to all around him. William checked his pocket watch with a frown. "Well then, we should be off. I shall pass this information on to our medical staff upon arrival at the hospital. Have a good evening, sir."

Undertaker nodded and stood aside while they activated a portal large enough to take them all through to the middle realm. Just as William was about to follow them through, the ancient spoke.

"Be a dear and keep me informed on his condition, would you? I rather like the cheeky lil' fellow."

William paused and looked over his shoulder at him. "Heavens, he has even managed to charm _you_. Rest assured, we'll be in touch. Dispatch may have further questions for you, once Knox has been debriefed on his experience. Good day, sir."

The Dispatch supervisor stepped through the portal and left the mortal world behind.

~xox~

It began as a knock on the door. It was a soft, subtle knock...slow and deliberate like a steady heartbeat. It gradually picked up in volume, but not speed. The young woman awoke from disturbing dreams about leering men, screaming and blood, her heart pounding much faster than the slow, steady knocks.

"Reginald—"

"I am here," assured the demon, his tall, dark form standing beside the bedroom door.

The knocking grew louder. The door began to rattle on its hinges from the force of it.

"Wh-who _is_ that?" she demanded, clutching her bedding to her bosom.

The demon's eyes narrowed, glittering crimson in the darkness. "Someone who is going to be very sorry for calling on you, rest assured. Stay here, young mistress. I shall deal with this."

She nodded, watching with wide eyes as he left the bedroom. She could just see the edge of the entryway door from her vantage point. It wasn't a large house. Her guardian approached with even, unhurried footsteps and just as he was about to turn the lock to open it and chase off whoever was on the other side, it buckled inward and split open. She screamed as a glinting, crescent blade broke through the door, cutting it in half from the top up. Reginald backed up, throwing his hands up to shield his face.

Terribly frightened but also terribly curious, Betsy crawled forward on her bed to see better. A high-heeled black boot with a pointed, upwards curling toe stepped through the broken doorway, setting down lightly on the polished wooden floor with nary a whisper of sound. Another soon followed and a man stood there at the threshold, his long silver hair flowing down his shoulders and back. He wore dark clothes and a top-hat, and his lips bore a toothy grin.

"Th-the Undertaker?" the barmaid whispered, recognizing him from the many times he'd visited the pub she worked at in the past.

The mortician was looking at Reginald, and in his grasping hand he held a huge, formidable scythe the likes of which she'd never seen. It was grimly beautiful, with a skull bearing a crown of thorns crowning the blade.

"Evening," greeted the eccentric funeral director. "Sorry to come at such a late hour, but you've been a very naughty bat, Reggie. Time for a spanking."

~xox~

Ronald woke again with a groan. He sensed someone standing by his bedside and he recognized the scent of the perfume. "S-Senpai? Grell, that you?"

"Of course, it's me," answered the crimson reaper. "Who else would have such fabulous taste in clothes?"

Ronald opened his eyes to look up at him, wincing against the light. At least he _could_ open both eyes now, and the pain was down to a minimum. "I'm in th' hospital?"

Grell nodded his crimson head. "Dispatch came and got you as soon as that old fossil called us. Perhaps I shouldn't be so hard on him," he reflected, tapping his chin with a gloved finger. "He _did_ see to your wounds and you might have been much worse off if he hadn't. Still, he threw me through glass and cut my face."

Ronald sat up painfully, revising his opinion that most of the hurt was gone. He now had a hospital gown on over his dressings. "Where is he?"

Grell snorted and waved his hand dismissively. "Back at his shop, of course. Where else would he be... _here_?"

"No, I guess not. Um, what did he say when they came and got me?"

Grell looked at him sidelong. "He said you were attacked and he found you at his doorstep."

"Did he say why?"

Grell frowned and looked at him full-on. "Why _what_?"

Ronald reached up gingerly to scratch the back of his head, and he grimaced when a few strands came free. That demon pulled hair like a girl in a cat-fight. "Why I was at his shop."

"Oh, that." Grell shrugged lightly. "He presumed you came to him for help because you couldn't open a portal to get home. Is that what happened, Ronnie?"

It was on the tip of Ronald's tongue to blurt that no, that wasn't what happened, but for whatever reason it seemed the Undertaker chose to keep their date a secret. That was probably a good idea, now that he thought of it. "Yeah, that's how it happened. I knew the old guy had medical knowledge and even though I chased the demon off, I thought maybe he'd try to come back for another try at me. He only got me as good as he did because he sucker-punched me."

Grell smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. "Is that so? Hmm. The Undertaker said that you told him this demon accused you of making untoward advanced to his mistress, when he attacked you." He walked his fingertips up the boy's arm teasingly. "Were you being a tomcat again, Ronnie-Ron?"

Ronald pushed his hand away. "Cut it out, Senpai. I didn't do anything. The only girl I interacted with today was some barmaid a few blocks from the mortuary, and all I did was smile at her and tip her. If some demon thinks that means I was trying to get into her panties, that's his problem."

"Fair enough." Grell left off teasing him. "I've always warned you that you were too charming for your own good, though. He shouldn't have been able to catch you off-guard, at any rate."

"Came out of nowhere," insisted the blond crossly. "I gave as good as I got, once I got over the surprise."

"I'm sure you did, darling...I'm sure you did."

Ronald sat up straighter. "What, you think I'm lying?"

Grell smiled at him. "No, Ronnie-kins, I don't think you're lying. I believe you think you chased him off. Truthfully though, you are still green when it comes to dealing with demons and other supernaturals."

"Huh...like _you_ did any better against the Undertaker...or Sebastian, for that matter."

"Ah, Sebby." Grell put a dramatic hand over his heart and fluttered long eyelashes. "We've both left our marks on each other. Alas, not the sort I would have preferred, but—"

"Senpai, focus," grumbled Ronald. "My point is, I don't think you would have done much better against this guy."

Grell gave him another sharp-toothed smile; this one slightly wicked. "Oh, I would have sensed his approach, at the very least. What had you so distracted, Ronnie? You haven't been acting like yourself at all, lately."

"I guess I just needed a little break," excused Ronald, thinking quickly, "and I was really hungry, too. We aren't supposed to open portals anywhere in human footpaths even if we cloak ourselves, right?"

Grell shrugged. He didn't care much about that rule.

"So I went into the alley to portal home, but then that creep came up behind me and went ballistic."

"All right, darling...so you went to London to pick up some food and you were attacked whilst trying to get home, yes?"

Ronald nodded. "Yeah, that's the gist of it. I hadn't eaten all day, so I guess my mind was just on food."

"I suppose that's a good enough excuse," said Grell thoughtfully. "We have people out searching for this demon now. Did he give you a name, Ronnie?"

Ronald thought hard, trying to recall what Undertaker had said. "Reggie? Wait, it's longer than that..."

"Reginald?" offered Grell.

 

"Yeah, that's it. I guess the girl's name is Betsy, 'cause he warned me she was his while he was tearing into me." He felt guilty. He wasn't exactly _lying_ to his senpai. Those were the names Undertaker gave to him...he just wasn't telling him the exact source.

"Then I'll put that down in the report," Grell assured him. "In the meantime, my sweet Ronnie, I want you to get plenty of rest and—"

Eric Slingby strode into the hospital room at that moment, interrupting the conversation. "Grell, sorry ta interrupt, but there's a situation an' we need yeh ta—"

"Ooh, you and Alan?" Grell wriggled with delight. "Why Eric, I had no idea the two of you were into ménage à trois!"

The other officer raised his bows. "Gettin' a wee bit desperate, Sutcliff? Summun ought ta buy yeh a blow-up doll. Anyhow, the Undertaker's gone out o' bounds. No' only has he left his shop, but he's three blocks past his allowed travel range. Spears sent me ta' get yeh so we can investigate it."

Eric's Scottish brogue was thick with excitement.

Grell hopped up from his seat on Ronald's bed. "Oh, this is perfect. I have been _dying_ for the chance to cross scythes with that bounder again, and I _knew_ he could only behave himself for so long!"

"Wait, where is he?" Ronald asked as the two older reapers started to go.

"I dinnae ask," answered Slingby. "We'll find out when we get ta tha other side. Feel better, Ron."

Ronald sighed, dropping his hands into his lap as his elders left him alone. "Dammit, Undertaker...what did you do _this_ time? How am I gonna date you if you wind up stuck in prison?"

He supposed there were conjugal arrangements he could make...

~xox~

-To be continued    


	4. Chapter 4

 

There was a horrendous crash as a body dressed in black was hurled directly through one of the front windows of the small, London suburban home. The few people still up and about at such an hour quickly vacated the area around the house and stood across the street to witness a tall man with a mass of long, silver hair pick himself up painfully from the cobbles. He straightened to full height, brushed shards of broken glass from his dark robes and grinned like a maniac at the elegant dandy standing inside, looking out at him.

"What's goin' on 'ere?" whispered the local tailor, in awe that a man could recover so easily from something like that.

"Not sure, love," answered one of the whores that worked that street. She linked arms with the doxy she partnered with for safety in numbers, and she whispered into the blonde's ear.

The blonde nodded and put an arm around the redhead's waist. "That tall bloke there came bangin' on the door an' 'e broke it down, easy as you please. Seems the gent what lives in that place tossed 'im out on 'is ear."

"Seems pretty spry for gettin' tossed through a window," remarked the procurer of the two harlots. "Hey, ain't that the bloke what runs the local mortuary?"

His eyes widened and he gasped as the silver-haired fellow manifested a huge, skull-capped scythe out of thin air.

"So, you like it rough, eh?" said the mortician with a mad giggle. "I can accommodate that."

The next thing the witnesses saw had them all bug-eyed. The black-robed man produced what looked to them like long wooden stakes—again out of thin air—in his free hand and he threw them at the fellow on the other side of the broken window as though they weighed no more than game darts.

The black-haired dandy inside dodged them, yelling for someone to get back into the bedroom. The silver-haired man took a startling, graceful leap towards the building that made him seem nearly weightless, and he went through the door with his scythe leading the way. As if to heighten the dramatic fight being witnessed, the overcast night sky emitted an ominous rumble of thunder, and lightning played in the clouds. There was a ruckus from inside, a woman's cry of alarm, and something roughly the size of a knife clattered out through the doorway into the street.

The local tailor approached cautiously to look at it, and his face screwed up as he picked it up and held it under the dim streetlight. "A...horn?"

An awful screeching sound pierced the air—metal, brick and mortar being hewn in half—and the front of the house shifted as a diagonal slash appeared from the left corner of the roof to the bottom right corner of the foundation. The ground trembled beneath witnesses feet, and there were sounds of alarm from neighboring residencies as the ruckus woke the occupants.

A woman's voice called out from within the house when the carnage ended and the noise died down. "No! Don't kill him, please!"

~xox~

Undertaker stood over his vanquished prey, the sharp, crescent blade of his death scythe pressed threateningly against Reginald's throat and one boot planted firmly on his chest. The demon glared up at him, baring his fangs. He'd transformed during the struggle, and his expansive black bat's wings lay unfurled beneath him on the floor. One horn had been sliced off and black blood dripped sluggishly from the stump.

"Please," begged the girl again. "I _need_ him!"

The mortician glanced at Betsy, his eyes flashing beneath the fringe of his bangs. "I'd be doing you a favor if I did kill him, my dear...but I've learned that demons can't be so easily dispatched. The most I could hope for would be to damage his physical form enough to sever his ties to this plane and force him to rebuild a body to come back to. Seeing as I've got no personal interest in what becomes of your soul..."

He slowly withdrew the scythe and grinned. "...I've little incentive to make the effort. Back on your feet, chap."

Flushing with humiliation, the demon got off the floor and stood up. "What was the purpose of this attack?" he demanded. "If your intention wasn't to banish me, why intrude?"

"I said I've got 'little' incentive to destroy your body, not 'none'," explained the mortician. The house shivered on its foundation as the weight of the severed upper half shifted. Undertaker cast a distracted glance around. "I didn't come here for your ward, demon. I came to issue a warning. You attacked a young reaper today, unprovoked."

"He was making advances on my mistress," excused the demon. He wiped a trickle of dark blood from his lips. "It is my right to defend her honor as well as her life, while our contract is unfulfilled."

The ancient smirked. "You demons have a curious sense of honor. Like them pure, do you? Well, it's none of my affair how you conduct your business. It _is_ my concern when that business threatens what's mine, however. The blond Dispatch agent is off limits."

The house rumbled and dust came down from the ceiling. Betsy wrung her hands nervously and came to stand beside her demon servant, who put a protective arm around her.

"In fact," continued the Undertaker, ignoring the ruckus as he combed his bangs back to glare at the demon, "I think you'd best toddle off to a new location. Our little treaty ended when you attacked the boy, and I don't much care to have you residing in my territory any longer."

"I wasn't aware of your claim on him," protested the demon, narrowing his eyes. "London doesn't belong to you, old reaper."

The mortician smiled menacingly. "Maybe not, but the boy does. Besides, I think we can safely say this residency isn't fit for accommodation any more. Could collapse at any moment, in fact, so you might want to take your pretty little meal out of here before she gets crushed. You can find her another home wherever you like; as long as it's not within the boundaries of this city. I can do far worse to you than banish you, friend. I think you know that."

There wasn't much that could intimidate a demon like Reginald, but the uncertain look on his face said the mortician managed to make a dent in his resolve. "I could inform Shinigami Dispatch that you were here," he warned. "I know they've restricted how far you can go from your corpse processing shop, old fool."

"Ah, Dispatch." Undertaker smiled again. "Yes, they should be here very soon, I imagine. Think on this, chap: as brassed off as I was with your attack against Ronald, imagine how _they'll_ react when they find out you're the one responsible for putting one of their agents in the infirmary. I imagine they'll make you wish I'd banished you."

The demon deflated.

Undertaker nodded. "Good, you've got more common sense than I thought. Now, if you don't want to wind up as a demon shish-ka-bob, I'd recommend you gather what belongings you can and leave London for good. If Dispatch happens to arrive with questions before you're gone, tell them it was a fight with a rival demon or make something else up. I was never here."

Satisfied that neither of them would tattle on him now, the mortician turned and walked back to the door. He paused and bent over to retrieve his hat, brushing the dust off of it before placing it back on his head. He turned and smiled at Betsy, tipping his hat to her.

"Sorry for the mess, Miss Betsy. I wish you luck in getting whatever closure you need to satisfy your thirst for revenge, even though it means you'll wind up in your butler's stomach. Have a nice evening."

He banished his scythe and walked outside, and he sighed when he noticed the small gathering of humans across the street. More loose ends. With a shrug and a bright smile, he approached them. "Evening, folks. My, my, what happened here?"

The pimp glanced at his doxies, looking none too comfortable. "N-no idea, guvnor. Heard an awful ruckus and the house started fallin' apart. We didn't see nufin, did we girls?"

The blonde shook her head, her flaxen curls bouncing and her green eyes wide. "Not a thing," she agreed.

"I saw something," said the redhead boldly. She was looking at the Undertaker in an entirely different way, her brown gaze caressing him with intrigue as she sauntered up to him. "I saw a creepy ol' mortician turn into a god before me very eyes."

The doxy smiled and ran her fingernails over the reaper's bicep. "I loves a good mystery, I do. Want some company for the night, love?"

Her blonde companion gasped and muttered a warning to her, and the Undertaker's brows shot up. "Interesting sales pitch, my dear, but I'm afraid my company is reserved for another." he grinned and caught up her hand, planting a kiss on top of it. "Just make sure you don't tell the authorities about it, should they ask."

She shrugged, taking his rejection in stride. Evidently her lot in life had toughened her up more than her blonde companion, and she wasn't easily intimidated—but neither was she an idiot. "Mum's the word. Pi'y, though...I'd have liked to service you after seeing that."

The mortician's grin widened. "Brazen lil' darlin', aren't you." He looked at the pimp. "I like her. Take good care of these ladies, chap. I won't like it if I hear they've been abused, as so many ladies of the night often are."

The procurer nodded convulsively, reaching out for the redhead to drag her to his other side. "Right, sir. I'll remember that."

The mortician turned to the tailor. "And you? What did you see here, chap?"

The tailor pawed at the flask attached to his belt. "I'm too drunk to see much of anything." With that said, he popped the lid and took a hefty swallow.

Undertaker chuckled and nodded. "Good enough. Well, I'd best be off. Nice chatting with you folks."

He tipped his hat and then he appeared to vanish, leaving them gasping and staring at the empty space where he'd been.

"Right, that's it then," muttered the pimp, and he snatched the tailor's flask away from him with a shaking hand to steal a drink for himself. "I'm callin' it a night."

~xox~

They arrived not five minutes after the mortician left, and the witnesses had already fled the scene. They found the demon and his mistress hurrying out of the house just as it began to collapse in on itself, and the sound of approaching fire coach bells could be heard from a few blocks away. Grell approached the couple briskly, readying his scythe in case the demon tried any aggression.

"You, what happened here?" demanded the redhead, his gaze flicking between the butler and the grinding, groaning structure.

Reginald put the trunk he'd been carrying down on the street, and he straightened up with dignity. He appeared once more as a man, with no visible signs of his demonic nature. "I would like to know whom I address before I answer any questions, reaper."

Alan stepped forward before Grell could go off on a self-important tangent. "Dispatch officer Humphries," he obliged diplomatically, "and this is Officer Sutcliff. The man behind me is Officer Slingby. I apologize for the intrusion; I can see that this isn't a good time for you, but we've tracked a fugitive to this location and we would like to know if you've seen him."

He winced as one side of the house collapsed in on itself. "Did a reaper happen to be responsible for this? He would be tall, with long silver hair and visible scars on his face and throat."

The girl at the demon's side quickly shook her head, and Reginald did the same with more grace. "I'm afraid not. This is the result of an old rival attempting to challenge my claim on my mistress. We have seen nobody matching your description; reaper or otherwise. Now if you will excuse us, Betsy and I must be finding lodging for the night."

Alan hesitated, his brow furrowing. Too polite to argue with him, he nodded. "Of course. Good luck to you."

He nudged Grell and together, they joined Eric at the corner of the street. "What now?"

"He's obviously lying," Grell said with a wave of his hand. His eyes followed the demon with interest as Reginald hailed a carriage and loaded his mistress' trunk of belongings into it. "Handsome sort, though. Not quite as charming as my Sebas-chan, however."

Eric rolled his eyes. "Can yeh just focus on tha matter at hand? If tha Undertaker was here, then he can't have gone far. We should split up an' look fer him."

Alan nodded. "Agreed, but be careful. None of us should try to take him on alone. We should call each other immediately, if any of us find him. That means you too, Grell."

The redhead sighed. "Oh, how I would love a moment alone with that handsome, grinning fiend...but I shall play by the rules."

~xox~

They looked everywhere, with no results. Eric finally decided to call his companions and meet up with them at the mortuary, giving up. How he managed to pull it off was anyone's guess, but they found him inside the shop, sitting casually at his desk and reading a penny dreadful. He looked up and smiled brightly at the three officers as they entered his shop.

"Ah, evening, gents. Surprise inspection?" He put his reading material down on the desk and got out of his chair to greet them.

"Don't play coy with us, old man," snapped Grell with his hands on his hips. "You've been out tonight. Our tracking system confirmed it! Just what have you been up to?"

The mortician looked properly confused, and he spread his hands with an expression of one wrongly accused. "Why, my bum hasn't left this seat since night fell, Miss Sutcliff. Before that, I was caring for Mr. Knox and your supervisor came and got him, himself."

"The tracer alerted us that you were several city blocks from your shop," insisted Alan.

"Uh-huh. When might this alleged trip out have happened, chap?" Undertaker braced an elbow on the table and dropped his chin in his hand with interest.

"Not one hour ago," answered Eric. "Enough games, sir. Where'd yeh go an' why?"

"Who's playing a game? You've got my poor old head confused." Undertaker scratched his head in a show of perplexity. "Unless I've mastered the ability to be in two places at once without my knowledge, your tracing system is mistaken. Has it occurred to any of you that it could simply be a glitch?"

The Dispatch officers looked at one another uncertainly, and Eric shrugged. "It could happen."

"Oh, don't fall for his tricks," admonished Grell. He sauntered over to the desk, swinging his hips in a feminine manner. "You won't pull the wool over my eyes, you bounder. I know you're hiding something, and I shall delight in wringing it from your squirming body."

"Grell, put away the scythe," sighed Alan as the redhead made to start up the chainsaw. "We have no evidence that he's lying, and we're under orders from Dispatch not to use physical aggression against him unless it's necessary."

"And it's no' necessary," added Eric with a nod.

Undertaker smiled up at Grell with a maddening lack of concern. He combed his bangs out of his eyes and favored the temperamental redhead with a wink. "Can't you think of other things you'd rather with my squirming body, miss?"

A pink blush immediately bloomed on Grell's cheeks, inspired by the ancient's arresting gaze, his wink and his suggestion. Flustered, the redhead tried to recover from the effect it had on him. "Don't you start flirting with me, you...you...fossil," he sputtered. "Your wiles don't phase me!"

"Looks like they do from where I'm standin'," whispered Eric to his partner with a grin.

Alan smirked, but he sobered immediately. "Let's go, Grell. Even if he _did_ manage to sneak out and get back here before we arrived, we can't prove it. We should report back to Dispatch and have the tracking system analyzed. Sir, we're sorry for troubling you."

Undertaker waved it off. "No trouble, chap. It's always nice to have company, however brief and accusatory it might be. I'll lock up behind you and call it a night. I doubt I'll be getting any new clients at this hour."

Practically dragging Grell with them, Alan and Eric left the shop. Undertaker's grin faded once they were gone, and he leaned against the door with a sigh of relief.

"Close one, old chap," he mumbled to himself. As bored as he was with life, he was tired of running and he didn't much fancy the thought of being behind bars. If it weren't for Ronald Knox, though, he wouldn't have anything to look forward to at all and he simply couldn't leave it be after the boy got attacked on his way to visit him.

"Wonder how he's doing," sighed the ancient.

He smirked as he thought of the look on Grell's face when he'd flirted with him. So predictable, that one. It wasn't so hard to put on an act when he had no real intention of pursuing anything, but his flirtatious skills were sorely limited when it came to using them on someone he really wanted...like Ronald. He stumbled like an awkward fledgling when he tried to express his attraction to someone he really liked, and he again wondered what in creation the flirty blond agent saw in him.

~xox~

"Did they catch him?" Ronald asked when his boss came by to check on him and bid him goodnight.

William raised a brow at the concern in the young reaper's voice. "No, they did not. Nobody was injured, if that is your concern."

"So he's out on the loose, then?" pressed Ronald.

William shook his head. "No, fortunately. Our associates located the Undertaker at his shop, and he claimed not to have set foot outside of it this evening. They could find no evidence to the contrary, though Sutcliff insists he was lying."

Ronald relaxed against his pillow. "Oh. Huh, that's weird. Why did the tracer go off, then?"

"We suspect it was in error," explained the supervisor. "You don't need to worry about that, Knox. Concentrate on recovering so that you may return to work. It was a false alarm, so you did not miss out on anything."

"Yeah...I'd hate to miss out on another manhunt," muttered the blond. He came close to confessing the truth to William in that moment, having come to look up to him and admire him. He knew that doing so would probably only get him in trouble though, so he chose to be vague.

"Say Senpai...I wonder if you could give me some advice."

William had a seat in the visitor's chair and checked his watch. "I can spare a moment or two. What is the matter?"

Ronald scratched his head and glanced off to the side. "I know this girl in Human Resources, and the thing is...well, she's started dating a guy that her friends don't approve of. They kind of think he's a bad seed, you know?"

William smirked a little. "This 'bad seed' wouldn't happen to favor a custom scythe in the form of a lawnmower and take naps at inappropriate times of the day, would he?"

Ronald blinked. If only William knew how close he was to the truth—backwards though the roles might be. "No, it's not me...and I'm not a bad guy anyhow! This is someone else, and she was asking me what I thought she should do. I mean, say she started dating this guy on the sly and she's afraid to tell anyone because she knows she'll get a lecture if she does."

William nodded. "I daresay she would, if her friends are that concerned over her dating choice."

The blond sighed. "Yeah, I get that feeling too. The thing is, she _really_ likes this guy...more than she's ever liked anyone she's ever gone out with. They just started dating and all, so maybe it's just the newness of it. You know how new relationships can make you all giddy at first?"

The brunet lifted an elegant brow again. "Not from personal experience, but I've seen the sort of 'giddy' behavior in others when in a new romance. It's quite possible that the strength of her feelings are inspired by that, or perhaps she feels so strongly because her beau is 'forbidden fruit'. I understand some people find it thrilling to conduct illicit affairs or pursue an individual that others consider dangerous."

"But she's not attracted to him because he's dangerous," protested Ronald. "She didn't even know she was attracted to him 'till she kissed him for the first time, in fact. She uh...did it on a dare, I guess. Sort of."

William shrugged. "Sometimes a kiss can be all it takes, if my understanding of romance is accurate."

"Hmm. Have _you_ ever had your socks knocked off by a kiss, Senpai?"

"Not that I can recall, no." William shook his head.

Ronald sighed. "Believe me, if you had, you'd remember it. I guess you're too cool for that, though."

"Was that a veiled insult to my nature, Ronald?"

"No way," assured the blond hastily. "I wasn't being sarcastic. I just honestly can't see you getting loopy over a kiss."

"Thank you," replied the supervisor, "I think."

Ronald smirked. "Hey, the way I see it that's a good thing. We'd all be up shit creek without a paddle if you ever got distracted by romance. You're the glue that holds our department together, you know?"

The brunet sighed and adjusted his glasses. "I'm all too aware."

The blond sighed again. "So what do you think she should do? Keep dating the guy in secret or face the music and tell her friends?"

"It's not a simple question to answer," said the older reaper thoughtfully. "One would hope she has an honest enough relationship with her friends to discuss it calmly with them. If this suitor truly makes her happy and doesn't pose an immediate danger to her, then her friends should accept her choice eventually. That is, assuming they care for her enough to put her happiness above their personal dislike of this man."

Hope stirred in Ronald's breast. "Well, she thinks they do, but there's this one friend she really looks up to that can be pretty...uh...strict. Kinda like you. What would you do if she was a friend of yours, Senpai?"

William's straight brows furrowed slightly, and Ronald had a horrible feeling he was starting to put the pieces together. "You seem terribly invested in this young lady's personal romantic life, Knox."

"Like I said; she's a friend of mine and she doesn't know what to do. I'm just trying to get some good advice to relay to her, since...you know...my judgment isn't always that solid."

"I see. Well, if she were a friend of mine, I would take into consideration her past choices and whether they had a tendency to get her into trouble. How strongly I'd caution her would be influenced by her history, but I would not deliver an ultimatum that she either stop seeing this man or lose my friendship."

William frowned, an expression of dawning comprehension bleeding into his features. His gaze met Ronald's and held it, suddenly intense. "I might also be inclined to approach this gentleman and deliver a polite but firm warning not to mistreat her. While she may very well be capable of handling herself, I'm afraid I would have to insist on making it known that I will not tolerate anyone taking advantage of her."

Ronald gulped. He really should have known better than to play this game with William. The man was an expert strategist and he could read between the lines better than anyone Ronald ever met. He couldn't decide if he was touched or worried by his boss's subtle declaration. "W-well, she's not really that easy to take advantage of."

"Hmm, I would hope not." William crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. "One doesn't need to be a damsel in distress to be fallible, however. Tell me Ronald; this 'friend' of yours...is the object of her affections an older gentleman?"

_~Oh, crap.~_

He wanted to backpedal, if for no other reason than to avoid William figuring out exactly who he was secretly dating...but he could never lie to this man and even if he tried, he knew he would sense it. "Yeah, he's...a lot older, actually. Practically uh...ancient."

"Interesting." William's eyes narrowed. "And does he have a history of mental illness?"

Ronald shrugged, cringing a little. "Depends on who you ask. I don't think the guy's that crazy. Damaged, yeah, but he's been around since creation, so who the hell _wouldn't_ be a little unhinged in his place?"

"I think we can stop pretending to be discussing your imaginary friend, Ronald," advised William dryly.

The boy sighed. "Yeah, okay. You got me. I never should have said anything."

"Clearly you're feeling burdened by this situation," observed the supervisor. "I'm rather surprised you came to me first, instead of Sutcliff."

Ron shrugged. "Me too. I guess you were the person I was most worried about, and your advice is more solid than Grell's because you use logic instead of feelings to work stuff out."

"I commend your choice," William said, "at least insofar as choosing me as an advisor over Mr. Sutcliff. I must admit that I am surprised though, Ronald. The Undertaker? Honestly, I never would have imagined him being your type."

"Me either," agreed Ronald. "Believe me. Like I said, I kissed him 'cause I was curious and I thought I could seduce those names out of him for ya—"

William held up a gloved hand to silence him. "Stop. Knox, are you telling me that the day Sutcliff and I left you to handle procuring those names from him that you...slept with him to get them?"

The blond visibly winced. "Well no...It didn't go that far." He thought back on that encounter and he followed up with another careless confession. "Boy, it could have, though. Damn he's hot."

"I think I've heard all I care to," said the brunet, lips compressing tightly. "Ronald, I asked you to entertain him—"

"That's what I did," defended the blond. "Knox style."

William groaned softly. "I...cannot even pretend to be scandalized. I might have known."

Ronald shrugged and grinned sheepishly. "Well, it backfired on me. Now I can't get him out of my head and the truth is, he tried to push me away after that but I wouldn't give up. That's what was eating me up so much when you gave me a day off, boss. Sorry."

"Let me see if I understand this correctly," said the older reaper, "you decided to get information from Legendary Death through the most inappropriate means imaginable, and when he attempted to reject him you chose to stalk him?"

"No way!" Ronald sat up, groaning a little at the soreness in his body. "Listen, he was putting on an act because he didn't think it'd be a healthy relationship for me—"

"I daresay he's right—"

"—But I'm a big boy and I can make my _own_ mind up about who I date. I had a feeling he was just pretending not to want more, so I called him out on it and I was right! He could have thrown me out if he wanted to, but he didn't and he agreed to go on a few dates with me to see if we could fit together. I may be determined when I think I've got a chance with someone, but I'm no stalker!"

"All right, calm down," ordered William. "Is that how you ended up in his shop earlier this evening?"

Ronald nodded. "Partly, yeah. I know you said not to go out when I was supposed to be taking a rest day, but we were just going to hang around in his shop and have dinner together. I got jumped by that demon on my way there after picking up the food because he thought I was macking on his mistress. Man, if I get the chance to I am _so_ going to pay that asshole back for ambushing me and ruining my date."

William sighed. "You realize of course that your dating him will create a conflict of interest? I can't assign you to anything involving his case, from now on. You have contaminated your professional relationship with him."

"Jeez, you make it sound like I took a dump on him, Senpai."

William smirked. "Well, you've effectively 'taken a dump' on your responsibilities to his case, but what's done is done."

Ronald gave him a wary look. "So what's my punishment? More overtime? Please don't demote me."

"I don't intend to have you demoted," sighed the brunet, "but neither can I simply ignore this and allow you to compromise your judgment. I shall put in the paperwork to have you status as one of the Undertaker's probation officers revoked."

Ronald felt some alarm at that. "You're not gonna go around telling everyone, are ya?"

William gave him an impatient look. "Since when have I ever been a gossiper, Knox? What you tell others of your relationship with him and when you choose to do so is no business of mine."

The blond breathed a little easier. He doubted Eric and Alan would give him too much hassle, though the latter of the two might express some gentle concern. Eric would probably give Undertaker the thumbs-up for snagging a young thing like him, knowing the Scotsman's personality. It was Grell he was most worried about now. He couldn't predict whether the redhead would react with outrage or not. He might even get jealous, seeing as he harbored an attraction to the Undertaker himself, regardless of the damage he'd done to his face on the Campania. He might be offended that Ronald would want to date a man that 'hurt a lady's face'. There was just no telling with him.

"So what are you going to put down as the reason you're taking me off the case?" wondered Ronald aloud.

"I shall make a note that we have no need for so many agents assigned as probation enforcers to a single case. In fact, I believe I'll remove Sutcliff from it as well. Alan's report leads me to believe he's invested personal feelings into his dealings with the Undertaker as well, and I require agents that can maintain neutrality and fairness in this matter."

"Hmm, good plan but you know Sutcliff-Senpai's gonna be pissed."

William gazed at him steadily. "I do not now, nor have I ever cared what he thinks of my executive decisions, Ronald."

The boy shrugged. "I'm just saying there's probably going to be a lot of whining."

"He can whine until he loses his voice, for all I care," countered William, "in fact, I rather hope he does. We could all use the peace and quiet."

"You can be really mean, you know," Ronald sighed. "I know he gets on your nerves, but he's been in love with you for as long as I've known him...probably longer."

William almost seemed to hesitate, before speaking again. "Sutcliff falls in love all the time, Ronald. I can do nothing about that."

"Yeah, but he's _stayed_ in love with you," Ronald pointed out. "Even when he gets a crush on someone else, you're still at the top of the list. I'll bet even if that demon butler went out on a date with him, Grell would dump him in a heartbeat for you."

The brunet actually looked a bit uncomfortable. "I think you overestimate his attraction to me, Ronald. He's harbored this crush for a long time, this is true, but it has never been inspired by healthy reasons. He's both a sadist and a masochist. He enjoys inflicting pain on others and having it inflicted upon himself. I learned this long ago, and I doubt such a creature is even capable of real love."

It was Ronald's turn for an epiphany. "Oh man...how long have you been feeling like this, Senpai?"

William gave him a carefully neutral look. "Feeling like what, praytell?"

"You dig him!" Ronald's grin was almost as broad as the Undertaker's signature smiles. "That's why you get so pissed off at him. He pushes your buttons and I don't just mean the ones that trigger your temper."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," scoffed the supervisor. "I get so 'pissed off' at Grell Sutcliff because of his unprofessional behavior and fawning. It has nothing to do with any reciprocal attraction on my part."

Ronald sighed, guessing he'd get nowhere with this argument. When William T. Spears dug his heels in, he simply would not be budged. He'd suspected for a while that William deliberately did things to anger or disappoint Grell, but he never understood why, before now. It was like a boy picking on a girl he liked because he didn't know how to just tell her how he felt. Ronald had never wanted to play "matchmaker" more then he did now, but how could he convince his boss it was time to stop pulling Grell's figurative pigtails and just go for it?

Ronald thought of the cute librarian he once dated, and an idea came to mind. He began to grin. "Okay Senpai, if ya say I'm wrong, then I'm wrong. I won't try to convince you otherwise."

William lifted a brow suspiciously. "Thank you so much."

~ _Damn, the guy's so sharp about everything but his own feelings. I've never met anyone so out of touch with himself._ ~

Despite the pain he was still suffering as his body healed from the demon's attack, Ronald began to plot on how to get his senpai's together. For once, his thoughts weren't swimming with the Undertaker...but he knew that wouldn't last for very long so he made good use of the distraction.

~xox~

"That cold, perfect bastard," Grell complained the next morning as he stomped into Ronald's infirmary room. "Do you know what he did?"

Ronald nodded and swallowed the bite of porridge in his mouth. "Bumped you off Undertaker's probation case. I know; he took me off too. Told me he was gonna do it last night. Don't let it get to ya, Senpai. He'll win if you do."

Grell huffed and sat down in the visitor chair, crossing his legs and kicking absently at the air with his upper one. "What do you mean; 'he'll win'? I wasn't aware that he and I were competing."

Ronald snorted. "Yeah? You both spend an awful lot of time trying to one-up each other on who can piss off who the most."

Grell tossed his head dramatically. "Oh Ronnie, don't be ridiculous. I tease Will to try and crack that shell of ice around him and get some sort of reaction besides his indifference. He treats me so poorly because he's simply cruel. He's _always_ been cruel."

The redhead sighed, his expression going dreamy and a blush darkening his cheeks. "But that rigid perfection is part of what I so adore about him...that and how positively forceful he gets whenever he finally loses patience with me. Oh, it makes me shiver to think of how his eyes flash and for just a moment, I can pretend he's about to ravish me to teach me a lesson!"

Ronald listened to his infatuated tirade with half an ear, quite used to Grell going off into la-la land frequently when talking about William. "What if I told you he's got other reasons for the way he treats you?" he asked when Grell finally left off talking about William's hair, eyes and body with a wistful sigh.

The redhead seemed to snap out of his reverie, and he frowned. "What do you mean, Ronnie?"

The blond shrugged. "Maybe he likes pushing your buttons as much as you like pushing his, that's all."

"That's a lovely thought," Grell said dubiously, "but I hardly think my Willy is trying to flirt with me. There are better ways to get a lady's attention."

"Not yours," Ronald pointed out. "You always go for the guys that hurt you in some way. Sebastian, Undertaker, Spears-Senpai. I've heard you remark on how handsome you think Slingby-Senpai is, but you never throw yourself at him...not even before he and Alan went public with their relationship. You know why I think that is?"

Grell sighed and laced his fingers together over his knee. "All right, I'll humor you. Why do you think that is?"

"Because he's always nice to you," answered Ronald simply. "I mean you flirt a little with him once in a while, but never like you do with the guys that are mean or dismissive with ya."

Grell lowered his gaze in thought, his frown returning. "I...Ronnie, I've never admitted this to anyone, but I think that I'm more expressive of my passion with the cold ones because I know they are unobtainable. I foil my own heart this way, because...because I know they don't return my affections and that makes them 'safe'."

Ronald blinked. "I don't get it."

Grell sighed and spun around on the chair, getting up to pace the room. "If I were to woo a man that might respond favorably to my efforts, I could find myself in a relationship."

The redhead smiled and he absently ran his fingertips over the IV tube leading from Ronald's glucose bag to his arm. "And then I might know love...and loss. Both are frightful notions to me." He raised his eyes and looked at Ronald somberly. "Can you understand what I mean, Ronnie? I have seen so many hearts shredded—both figuratively and literally—because of love."

"Oh, wow." He got it now, and he suddenly felt sorry for both his senpai's. "You and Will both have some serious issues."

Grell put one hand on his hip in a sassy pose. "And just what do you mean by that? Protecting one's heart is just good sense."

The blond sighed. "Hey, you aren't the only one. What is it with us reapers, man? Why are we all so messed up?"

Grell checked his watch. "I hope you're planning on getting to the point, Mustard Seed. I do have to be in the office soon."

"My point is both you and Spears-Senpai have intimacy issues, but the funny thing is you deal with yours by throwing yourself at men you think don't want you and he deals with his by tugging on your pig-tails."

Grell's brow furrowed, and he reached up to pat his hair with both hands. "Ronnie, I'm not wearing any—"

"It was a figure of speech, jeez," interrupted the blond. "It's something boys do to girls they like because they're too chickenshit to just tell them so, you see?"

Grell seemed to be getting it, now. He stared at the younger reaper, blushing again at the implications. "Are you trying to say that Will treats me so horribly because...he really _likes_ me?"

Ronald nodded. "That's what I'm saying."

Grell started to smile, but he shook his head. "Well that's just...silly. What an imagination you have."

"Think about it, Senpai," urged the blond. "He's harder on you than anyone else in this department."

"That's because I annoy him more than anyone else in this department." Grell was covering his lips on a smile though, and the dreamy look was returning to his eyes.

"What if I'm right, though?" persisted Ronald. "Don't you even want to test my theory?"

"I...couldn't possibly," said Grell uncertainly. Ronald had never seen him lack confidence like this before.

"Why not? You could finally get what you want, if I'm right."

Grell sighed in exasperation. "And how do you propose I 'test' your theory, without getting a restraining order drawn up on me? I've done everything I could do to show Will my affection, short of outright molesting him."

"You don't need to molest him," insisted Ronald. "Do this right and _he_ could be the one molesting _you_."

"It's hardly possible to molest the willing, Ronnie," Grell pointed out, not bothering to deny how much he wanted William T. Spears. "But I'm curious to hear what you think I could possibly do that I have not already done."

"Dress like a sexy librarian and drop a book in front of him."

Grell stared at him again. "Pardon?"

The blond shrugged. "I'm pretty sure he's got a thing for librarians. I've caught him eyeing some of them before when we've gone to turn in records. If he's anything like me, he likes the way their skirts mold to their hips and show off their calves. You could dress like that, Senpai. I've seen you wear dresses before and you look good in them. In fact, if you weren't my mentor I might have already asked you out, by now."

"Oh Ronnie, don't tease me."

"I'm not," insisted Ronald. "I think if you dressed up in a nice silk blouse and one of those black skirts they wear, put your hair up in a bun and put on some women's heels, you could get Spears-Senpai eating out of your hand before you know it."

"But Will has already seen me in a dress before," reminded Grell, "and he didn't exactly toss me onto his desk and ravish me." The thought of such a scenario obviously pleased him, because his blush deepened and his eyes lost focus again.

"He's seen you in Victorian ladies' wear," corrected Ronald with a wink. "And while it's pretty on you, it's not really his weakness. Dress like a librarian and find an excuse to bend over in front of him. Trust the Knox instinct, Senpai. I'm good at this sort of stuff."

Grell snorted. "Since when have you ever dressed as a naughty librarian to seduce someone?"

"Well, never," admitted Ronald, "but I wasn't trying to seduce a guy with a closet fetish for them, either. I've got good instincts when it comes to romance, okay? How do you think I always get so many dates? You've gotta trust me."

Grell shook his head. "It isn't you I mistrust, Ronald...it's William's temper. Even if I did manage to catch his eye using your plan, I think Will would be furious that I'd managed to manipulate him that way. He's a very proud man, you know."

Ronald wanted to facepalm. "You two are so frustrating."

Grell smiled at him, and he reached out to ruffle his hair. "I appreciate you trying to help me ensnare my dream man, Ronnie...but some things are best left as a fantasy. Now, enough about me and my fixation with men I can't have; how are you feeling today?"

"Much better," answered Ronald truthfully. "All of the bruising is gone and the cuts are healing fast. They might release me this afternoon."

"Well, good. If they do, I would like you to come to my apartment for dinner tonight."

Ronald grimaced. "Uh, I'd love to...but I kind of have plans tonight already, if they let me out of here."

"A date already?" Grell raised his brows. "How in the hell did you manage to procure a date while in the hospital?"

The boy shrugged evasively. As with William, he was reluctant to outright lie to Grell. "I'm just that good. See why you should listen to my advice?"

Grell sighed, rolling his eyes. "The King of Hearts you may very well be when it comes to dating, Ronnie, but you are the Joker of the deck when it comes to good sense."

"Hah, that's funny, coming from you."

The shark-like grin returned. "I never claimed to be gifted in that area myself, darling. I was only making a point."

"Okay, ignore my advice then," conceded Ronald. "But I'll be thinking about you when I'm out on my hot date tonight. Oh wait...that didn't come out sounding the way I meant for it to."

Grell laughed and clapped his gloved hands with delight. "Is there something you've been meaning to tell me, Ronald? Well, I'd best get to work before I'm late. I admit that I'm a little envious of your ability to find dates even when you're hospitalized. Do have a lovely time, Knoxy."

"I'll let you know how it goes," promised the blond—vaguely thankful that Grell no longer asked him for names or details of any of his dates unless he demonstrated a lot of excitement over them. He wasn't quite ready to confess the truth of his relationship with the Undertaker to him. He smiled as he watched him leave, and once he was alone again he sighed and looked down at his unappealing breakfast, still sitting half-eaten on his food tray.

"Damn, I thought about him again," complained Ronald as his brain jumped on his mental mentioning of the mortician and ran with it. He sighed as his crotch rose to attention beneath his hospital gown. Every time he thought of those eyes, that smile, and the voice—when it wasn't putting on the creepy tone—he immediately thought of the way he kissed and the way he'd seemed so helpless with pleasure when Ronald gave him that hand-job.

"Down boy," he admonished himself. He'd agreed not to try to do that to 'Taker again until at least the third date. His plans had been set back, but not defeated. He missed talking to the unpredictable old death god, though. He looked around for his phone and he sighed, realizing they must have put it in a locker with his clothes. Maybe he could get one of the nurses to bring him a phone so that he could call him and set up a date for when he got released.

~xox~

-To be continued


	5. Chapter 5

Undertaker was quite surprised in a pleasant way when he heard the voice from outside his shop door.

"Hey, ‘Taker? Are you up yet?"

A series of knocks followed the inquiry, and the mortician pushed open the lid of his coffin and climbed out with a yawn. “One moment,” he called to his visitor. He hurried through the curtains to the back and he went into the bathroom to hastily brush his hair.

Undertaker stopped and stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror. “Oh mercy…I’m actually _grooming_ myself for someone.” The notion both tickled and frightened him. He shivered even as he chuckled, and he flipped his hair over one shoulder so that he could get his brush through the length of it without disjointing himself.

Ronald kept knocking.

The ancient reaper huffed, mildly annoyed. With brush still in hand, he glided back into the shop. “You young folk are so impatient! Keep your knickers on.”

His complaints died on his lips when he opened the door to find Ronald Knox standing there in a brown dress jacket, matching pants and a white ivory button shirt. There were faint smudges of fatigue beneath the agent’s eyes to mark his experience, but it seemed all visible bruises and lacerations had healed. The agent smiled charmingly at him, and he held up a couple of bags.

"I still owe you that dinner date," said Ronald. "I know it’s a little early and ya might have work to do, but I figured it was worth a shot. I would have called, but I wanted to surprise you."

Undertaker scanned him covertly, checking for signs that he should be off his feet. He seemed to have bounced back nicely from his ordeal. “I would…delight in having dinner, my dear,” he heard himself say. He’d agreed to at least three dates, after all. Styx, the fellow looked nice in that ensemble. Earth tones really seemed to compliment Ronald’s coloring. He imagined he would look good in green, as well.

"Well uh…are you gonna let me in?" The blond smirked with amusement as he pointed out the fact that Undertaker hadn’t moved from his position in the threshold.

"Ah, right." Undertaker stepped aside and gestured invitingly. When the agent came through the door, he shut it behind him and locked it.

"Does my heart good to see you back on your feet so quickly," he rambled as he clicked the locks into place. "I was hoping to hear some news on your condition today, but nobody saw fit to contact me. Funny, I intended to ring Mr. Spears when I woke up to speak to him about that…but I s’pose I don’t need to do that anymore, do I?"

"Nope. I’m all healed up and ready to go." Ronald winked and made an awkward "death" sign with both hands, still clutching the food bags. "Oh and I hope ya don’t mind, but I brought these over from the Shinigami realm. I would have stopped by the same pub from last night but even I can admit when I’m not in the best condition for a fight. Didn’t want to run into that psycho demon again and have another date interrupted."

Undertaker pressed two fingers lightly against his lips, smiling. “That’s quite all right, Ronnie. I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that ‘psycho demon’ again. Miss Betsy informed me last night that they’re relocating.”

"Oh yeah? Huh…maybe her demon had some common sense after all. Dispatch never managed to track him.  Shit, I should have asked you where she lives! I could have just given them the address, straight up!”

The mortician cleared his throat. “Not to worry. He’s been punished.”

Ronald’s expression suddenly turned suspicious. “How. Did his mistress give him spanking?”

Undertaker lowered his gaze and shook his head.

“‘Taker…they said they thought you went out last night, but you were back at your shop when they came to check it out. Did you…go anywhere?”

The mortician peeked at him through his bangs, smiling a bit mischievously. He said nothing.

Ronald’s brows went up. “You went to that demon’s place, didn’t you?”

Undertaker shrugged. “Maybe just a bit. Had a little chat and left. I wasn’t gone for very long.”

Ronald’s eyes lost focus as he mulled over it. “They said the place your tracing signal led to was practically demolished. The demon that lived there said it was a rival demon that…oh, man! I am so _stupid_! That was _him_ , wasn’t it?”

“‘Fraid so,” confirmed the mortician softly. “I won’t try to stop you if you decide to phone it in, chap.”

"Why would you risk blowing your probation like that?" demanded Ronald. He set the deli bags down on one of the nearby coffins and he stepped closer to the older reaper. Reaching up, he brushed his bangs away from his eyes so that he could gaze into them. "Why risk…was this for _me_?”

Something flashed in that alluring, timeless gaze, giving away emotions that the Undertaker would otherwise keep hidden. “You tried to bring me dinner,” he excused, his voice softening and taking on that exotic lull. “I felt responsible, and I wanted to be sure he wouldn’t trouble you again in the future.”

Ronald stared at him, enchanted. “Okay, I’m not saying I need a protector, but nobody’s ever done something like that for me before. I mean my senpai’s probably would, but nobody I’ve  dated ever…come here, I’ve got to kiss you now.”

He reached under the thick silver hair to gently take hold of both of the mortician’s ears, tugging on them to draw his head down as he rose up on the balls of his feet. The mortician shivered at the unexpected claim on his sensitive ears and his lips were already parted to answer Ronald when the blond’s mouth covered his in a kiss. He’d forgotten he still had his brush in one hand, and it clattered to the floor as he dropped it in surprise. Ronald’s tongue plunged into his mouth and he sucked on it impulsively, his arms going around the smaller reaper.

The blond kissed him silly for a few moments—quite literally. Undertaker was grinning and blushing by the time Ronald finally pulled away to look at him again. He was grinning too, his eyes flicking over the mortician’s pale, pink-flushed features with a sparkle of delight in them.

"I’ve been wanting to do that all day," confessed Ronald. He sobered a bit. "Say, did anyone see you attack that demon?"

It took the mortician a moment to gather his wits for a response. “Don’t worry about that, love. I took care of the few witnesses around.”

Ronald’s eyes widened. “Oh shit…what’d you do with the bodies?”

Undertaker blinked at him, and then he laughed heartily with delight. “No, dear boy, no. I didn’t reap anyone last night. I just had a chat with the four mortals that saw some of the fracas and ensured they wouldn’t go spreading around what they saw. You thought…you thought I _killed_ them?”

Ronald grinned and shrugged, relaxing. “Hey, with your history can ya blame me for going straight to that conclusion?”

The mortician laughed even harder. Oh, how he had missed such open, carefree laughter.

~xox~

They ate at the small table in the little kitchen of the Undertaker’s personal living quarters, in the back. Ronald filled him in on office gossip as they had their meal, and the older reaper listened to it all with a smile and the occasional comment or question. Realizing he was dominating the conversation, Ronald stopped to give his date a chance to talk.

"Sorry, I run off at the mouth sometimes. You’re being pretty quiet, though. Aside from bringing down the scythe of justice on that demon that attacked me, what have you been up to lately?"

The mortician shrugged and selected a fried pickle from his plate. “Evading Shinigami authorities.” He smirked and winked at the blond, before popping the battered treat into his mouth.

Ronald laughed, but his heart skipped a beat at that wink. Every once in a while, the man let the charmer in him come out, giving Ronald a glimpse of what he must have been like before. It usually took a little time to break the ice and make him comfortable enough to flirt, but even those subtle gestures made the blond’s pulse quicken.

"What about me, though?" Ronald favored him with a wink of his own, and he dipped one of his fried chips in the glob of tomato sauce on his plate. "You don’t seem to be evading _me_ too much, and I’m part of those authorities.”

"Mm, yes," agreed the Undertaker after chewing and swallowing. He looked at Ronald through his parted bangs, and he smiled almost shyly. "But I don’t think you’ll turn me in. You’d have done so by now, if you intended to."

"Well, I look at it this way: they took me off your case as a probation officer and you were acting for my benefit. Nobody died and you came right back home, so I’m letting this one slide."

"They took you off?" Undertaker frowned slightly. "Why?"

"Conflict of interests," answered the blond with a shrug. He sipped his ice water. "I kind of gave it away to the boss that I’m trying to date you, so he took me off the case. That’s fine by me, though. It means I can keep seeing you without worrying about getting in trouble for it."

The mortician wore an ambiguous look on his pale face. “And you’re fine and dandy with this?”

Ronald nodded. “Of course. I mean, I was a little upset at first, but Spears-Senpai is right. I can’t stay on as your probation officer without our personal relationship getting in the way, even if you decide ya don’t like me after date three.”

Undertaker lowered his gaze and toyed with his food, pushing the sparse remains around with a fingernail. “I fear I like you a bit too much already, little agent.”

Ronald almost choked on his drink. “Hey, I’m not that little. You’re just too tall.” He was grinning happily, though. Of course, if the man didn’t like him he probably wouldn’t have gone medieval on that demon in the first place, but it was still nice to get the verbal confirmation.

The mortician nodded in acknowledgement, smiling as well. “Fair enough. I suppose I can see their logic in taking you off the case.”

"They took Grell off too. He was pissed off about it, but I think I gave him something to think about."

"Oh?" Undertaker looked intrigued.

Wondering if he should say anything, Ronald hesitated. He shrugged a moment later, figuring since the Undertaker wasn’t part of Dispatch any longer, it wouldn’t hurt to tell him. “I think Spears-Senpai likes Sutcliff-Senpai, but he doesn’t know how to tell him.”

"So he picks on him instead," reasoned the older reaper.

"Exactly!" Ron’s eyes widened a bit with delight. "Hey, you and I think alike sometimes."

"I may have been in a similar situation to Grell’s, once upon a time," admitted the ancient.

"Oh yeah? You had a thing with your boss?"

Undertaker shook his head and sipped his tea before responding. “No, a fellow officer. The chap gave me a difficult time whenever possible, but then one day I decided to lay a wet one on him when he got in my face.” He grinned. “He wouldn’t let go. I think it shocked us both. I was just trying to shut him up and give him a start, mind you, but then…well, then there was touching.”

Ronald smirked and eyed the taller reaper up and down. “Can’t say I blame him. So did you two hook up after that?”

"For a while." Undertaker lowered his gaze again. "Things went sour eventually, though."

The blond sighed. “It happens. I promise I’ll try to keep things sweet between us, though…even if you don’t want to keep me around after date three.” He didn’t think that was going to happen, though. Undertaker had already both proven and admitted to him that he wanted him.

The mortician smiled. “And what do you think might happen between Mr. Spears and Miss Sutcliff, eventually?”

"I’ve got a plan," insisted Ronald with a grin. "A devious, sexy plan."

Undertaker propped his chin in his hand, grinning back. “Do tell. I love a good story.”

~xox~

Ronald explained his idea to his date, and they shared a good laugh over it. He really enjoyed spending time with the retired reaper. He offered advice, he laughed at his antics and he made him laugh in return. The rest of the evening went by a little too fast for his taste. It was true what they said about time flying when you’re having fun, because the next thing Ronald knew it was two in the morning. It felt a little strange to him, to go all night without trying to make out with his date. He planned on saving that for the second and third dates though, determined to behave as a gentleman and show the Undertaker that he wasn’t just out for sex.

"Well, I’ve got to work tomorrow, unfortunately," sighed Ronald with regret after he finished the nightcap offered to him. He turned his head and looked over at the reaper sitting beside him on the sofa. "Where do you want to go on our next date? I know you’ve got a day out coming to you soon."

He half-expected the Undertaker to say the cemetery, but he surprised him. “Hmm, I haven’t been to the park in a while. What say we have a night stroll and a picnic?”

Ronald blinked. “Wow, come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever done anything like that.”

"You aren’t fond of the idea, I take it?"

The blond shook his head. “No, that’s not it. It sounds…uh…romantic. Yeah, that’s the word. I’m used to dinner and dancing, and maybe a show. The park would be something different to try. Maybe we could hit that pub you like after that and have a couple drinks, since stalker guy isn’t around to get in my face anymore.”

The mortician grinned. “I would like that…and even if he were still around, he wouldn’t touch you while you’re with me.”

Ronald blushed a little at the protective tone, surprised by the warm, fuzzy feelings it inspired in him. “Then it’s a date!”

He looked around at the quaint little sitting room. Undertaker had tidied his place up since the last time he was there. “You know, this place isn’t half bad. It feels kind of cozy.”

And that big bed in the mortician’s bedroom looked coziest of all…but Ronald refrained from saying so. He knew the man preferred to sleep in his coffin, but that canopy bed sure looked nice.

"I’m glad you find it comfortable," said the older reaper with a nod. "I know the shop up front isn’t the most romantic setting to visit in."

Ronald shrugged. “Hey, it beats the lab in the basement.”

He handed his empty glass to the mortician as he held his hand out for it, and they both stood up. Ronald scratched the back of his head, suddenly nervous. “I don’t think I ever really thanked you. For taking care of me that day, I mean. I could have been a lot worse off, if it weren’t for you.”

"What was I supposed to do, leave you lying there, bleeding on my floor?" teased the Undertaker. "Think nothing of it, Ronnie."

The agent bit his lip and looked up at the taller man. He didn’t want to leave, but he’d be useless in the morning if he didn’t get some rest. He wasn’t about to ask if he could stay over and sleep in that cool bed of his. Undertaker also looked uncertain, and he guessed he was waiting for him to initiate a goodnight kiss.

"Come here," he demanded, tossing caution into the wind. He reached up to cup the back of the mortician’s head and draw it down for a kiss. Undertaker’s hands were full with the two drinking glasses, but his arms went around him as their lips met.

Uncertainty seemed to evaporate as the mortician’s soft lips met his, and he returned Ronald’s kiss with enthusiasm that had the blond feeling weak in the knees. The old guy could sure as hell kiss, that was for certain. Their tongues danced together and Ronald slid his hands down the taller man’s back, stopping just above his hip line. He almost gave his butt a squeeze but he made his urges back off, not wanting to spoil the gentlemanly impression he’d been trying to make.

He nearly laughed giddily. They were doing this backwards. First he’d practically jumped his bones and then he decided to court him. Usually it was the other way around. Ronald slid his fingers through Undertaker’s hair as the kiss went on, loving the silky feel of it. It smelled nice, too. He wondered what he used to wash and condition it. How could he have ever thought this guy was creepy?

For several heartbeats they kissed, until Ronald felt like he might go back on his promise not to jump him if it kept up. He pulled away regretfully and took a deep breath, winking at the older reaper. “I’m gonna have some nice dreams tonight, after a kiss like that.”

"Likewise," said the mortician a tad breathlessly. He was blushing in that cute way of his and he smiled. "Thank you for dinner, Ronnie…and for spending time with me. It was quite nice."

"You haven’t seen anything yet," promised the blond with a smirk. "I’d better get going while my self-control holds out, but I’ll call you up tomorrow to talk if you want, and we can set a day and time for our next date."

"That sounds like a solid plan to me," agreed the Undertaker. He set the glasses down on the little coffee table in front of the sofa. "I’ll walk you out, my dear."

~xox~

Two days later, Grell was in the open reading area of the library, and he was dressed in a black tube skirt, a matching single-button dress jacket, a cream silk blouse and a pair of black high-heels. He had his hair piled up in an intricate, twisted bun and he stood there frozen as William T. Spears came in and claimed one of the research desks to do some reading. It was part of his routine—Grell had actually memorized his schedule. He told himself that he did it to plan his own unscheduled breaks, so that he could do so without William checking in on him. More often than not, however, he found himself seeking the supervisor out and finding ways to pester him just to get some attention.

Grell swallowed and checked the red cameo ribbon chocker around his throat, and then he checked the ruby teardrop earrings he wore. He took a moment to check his makeup in the compact he kept in his dress jacket pocket, feeling particularly nervous. Ordinarily shameless when it came to outright flirtation, he was unschooled in methods of subtle manipulation and seduction. Reminding himself that he was Grell Sutcliff and he had never turned from a battle, he smoothed his skirt-suit and began his approach.

William was reading through a book he’d selected, and he was chewing absently on the end of his pen. It was a habit he’d had since he and Grell were both still fledgling reapers, and he did it unawares all the time. Grell had always found it endearing, but William got irritated when he said anything about it.

Grell clutched the book that would be his excuse and he walked past the supervisor’s desk slowly, forcing his features to look relaxed and distracted. He was an actress at heart, after all. Everyone got stage fright now and then; even the best of them.

~xox~

William was researching the Undertaker, of all things. The library didn’t actually carry volumes labeled as such; they were all about Legendary Death. The Shinigami History and Legend sections were his favorites to peruse for as long as he could remember. It was from his predecessors that he took inspiration from, to become a better role model and leader. All of the great ones’ exploits, quotes and career histories were there for any reaper to study, and his two favorites were the Undertaker and Dispatch’s own Glasses Division supervisor, “Father” Lawrence Anderson—affectionately referred to as “Pops” by younger generations.

It still amazed him how different the mortician was from the man in history and legend. According to the volumes, Undertaker had once been quite the Casanova. His list of romantic exploits was nearly as long as his list of famous reapings and battle conquests. He’d served in two wars against the forces of Hell—alongside Anderson and Victor Tally. William had looked up Tally before simply because he’d never met him and his association with the Undertaker had him intrigued. There wasn’t much listed about him, which surprised William. In fact, it appeared that pages had been torn out of some volumes where they’d referenced him. He suspected it had been deliberately conducted by someone, but he couldn’t say whom.

He smirked as he read over an account of the Undertaker being seen with a woman on each arm, enjoying mortal festivities. “And here I’d thought Ronald had nothing in common with him,” he whispered. Perhaps it wasn’t such an odd match, after all. Could a pair of promiscuous lovers actually settle down together, though? The mentor in him worried that Ronald might get hurt, but the practical side of him reminded himself that the boy landed on his feet more often than not, and Undertaker was a very different man from the reaper in history books.

One of the librarians walked past and he covertly peeked at her through his lashes, admiring the sway of her hips and the way the tasteful yet alluring librarian outfit hugged her curves in all the right places. His eyes scanned her as she paused with her back to him, looking as though she were trying to sort out where to put the book in her hands. He noticed the deep, vivid red color of her pinned-up hair and his brow furrowed subtly.

_~A new one? Or did one of them dye her hair? The only redhead I recall has more of an auburn shade.~_

She turned her head slightly, and he caught a glimpse of delicate teardrop earrings dangling from her lobes, glinting red.

_~Red. Like her hair. Ruby red.~_

It reminded him of a certain infuriating coworker who seemed to possess the unique ability to shift between feminine and masculine personas. At once, he recognized the crimson glasses from the side, with the little skull crowning the beads of the chain dangling from them beneath the temple pieces. His eyes widened and his mouth went slack with amazement he could not hide.

“ _Sutcliff?_ " He blurted the name in a startled hiss, bewildered.

The redhead turned at the sound of his name, eyes convincingly wide behind the frames of those familiar glasses. “Oh, Will! Good afternoon.” He smiled, displaying rows of perfectly white, pointed teeth. His lips were stained red with gloss, shiny in the soft glow of the study lamps and the afternoon light coming through the windows.

William blinked, beside himself. “What in heavens are you _doing_ here, dressed like that?”

Grell looked down at himself. “Like what, darling? Oh, this? Why, I’m only wearing the proper uniform. Amelia is away on holiday and they needed an extra librarian for the day, since this is a busy time of year for the filing of cinematic records.”

It seemed a perfectly logical explanation, but he’d heard nothing about it and he thought he should have, if the bookkeeping staff truly needed to use one of his own agents to help file away tomes.  "Why was I not notified…and was it really necessary for you to wear that?" His collar felt too tight and he resisted the urge to loosen his tie.

"Well if I’m going to be a librarian, I may as well dress the part," reasoned Grell with a delicate shrug. "You didn’t receive the paperwork?" He sighed, clicking his tongue. "Really, I don’t know what Personnel is doing lately but they are clearly slacking. Don’t worry, William—I shall see to it that you get the proper documents before our shifts end."

William’s mind was swirling, and that outfit was positively distracting. “Explain to me why they would ask a Dispatch agent to compromise his own schedule in order to fill in for a filing clerk? Collected records can afford to build up, but souls must be harvested quickly before Hellspawn can get to them first.”

Grell nodded, a coiled lock of loose hair bouncing against his long, swan-like neck. William had never really noticed how lovely that column of pale throat was before, and the red cameo bound to it by the black velvet ribbon kept drawing his gaze to it. “I realize it’s an inconvenience to our department,” explained Grell softly, “but you needn’t worry! I finished my collections this morning already. What do you think I’m filing away now?”

He smiled and batted his eyelashes at him.

"You’ve already finished?" But he shouldn’t be so surprised, he supposed. Grell’s behavior might be irrepressible on his best days, but he always got the job done quickly and efficiently. It was one of the things William had always admired about him, though he’d never offered him praise for it.

"Of course!" Grell smiled at him again, and he drummed his scarlet-painted nails on the black leather cover of the book in his hands. "Now if you will excuse me, I should file this away."

He turned to do just that, and the volume slipped out of his hands and hit the polished marble floor. “Oops! How clumsy of me!”

Grell turned his back to William and bent over to retrieve the book, giving him a full view of the outline of his heart-shaped bottom. William’s gaze briefly fixated on it, sliding down to take in the way the lines of his derriere and hips smoothly joined with his long legs. He looked at the sleek-muscled calves and narrow ankles, and he blinked and looked away, flushing a little.

"Do be more careful with those," he murmured.

Grell straightened up with the book and he smiled and winked at William. “I can be so clumsy at times. Enjoy your read, Will!”

The supervisor avoided staring after him as he walked away, his high heels clicking against the surface of the hard floors. He looked down at his book and his eyes widened again. Somehow he’d broken the pen he was taking notes with, and beside Legendary Death’s name was a rather obvious ink blot, as a result.

"Oh, bloody hell," he grumbled, casting a quick look about as he reached into his suit jacket for his handkerchief to try and dab it up.

~xox~

Grell met up with his cohort between the standing shelves of the preliminary filing section on the second floor, where all new records were filed for later transfer to the vaults. “Okay, I did it,” he said nervously, feeling giddy and tingly all over. “I still can’t believe I allowed you to talk me into this, Ronnie.”

The blond grinned and gave the “thumbs-up” signal with both hands. “Don’t worry Senpai, you did great! I saw the whole thing and you’ll have him eating out of your hand soon, if ya keep it up. Just trust me. Do this bit a few times and he’ll crack, I just _know_ it! You know when he comes here, so just make sure you do it on those days and let him see you.”

Grell sought out the right location for the book and he inserted it into the shelf. “There is one problem with that, Ronald. If I only show up on the days that he does, Will is bound to start suspecting something. He’ll look at the paperwork and figure it out, I’m sure.”

Ronald shrugged. “Not if ya pick a random day or two during the week to volunteer when he’s _not_ going to be here. It’s only a couple of hours.”

"But that means more possible overtime," sighed Grell.

"And that’s one of the keys to Spears-Senpai’s heart," reasoned the blond with a smirk. "As much as he bitches about overtime, it impresses him when workers take on the extra load to benefit the organization. Wow, I even sounded like him, just now."

Ronald chuckled softly, but he sobered when he saw Grell’s doubtful expression. “You want him, don’t you? He’s worth it, right?”

Grell’s eyes predictably softened, a blush suffusing his cheeks. “Oh…how long have I fantasized?” He shook himself out of it and he gazed at the blond with sudden shrewdness. “Why is this so important to you, anyhow?”

Ronald shrugged. “I guess I just want to see you both happy, and stop making each other miserable for a change. You’re kind of the closest things I’ve got to big brothers…maybe even parents. I’ll help ya when I can with the extra workload, just do me the favor of trying, okay?”

Grell smiled and reached out to squeeze Ronald’s shoulders. “You are the sweetest little pest, Ronald Knox. I adore you for it, though.” He leaned forward to plant a kiss on the blond’s cheek, leaving behind scarlet lip prints. “Even if your efforts don’t pay off, I…appreciate it.”

The younger reaper beamed. “You’ll appreciate it more when you’re finally banging your boss.”

Grell gave a convincingly scandalized gasp. “Ronnie!”

"Just being honest," excused the blond with a wink.

Grell smiled and chuckled behind his hand.

~xox~

"So where do yeh want ta eat?" Eric was asking his partner as they left headquarters after clocking out.

Alan grimaced a bit and rubbed his left arm. “Would you mind if we stayed in for the night? I don’t want to be boring, but—”

"No, tha’ll be fine, love," Eric assured him immediately. He started to put a comforting arm around him, all too familiar with the days when Alan’s condition pained him. "We can order in if yeh like. I’d cook for yeh, but tha only thing I can make worth braggin’ about is tha haggis."

Alan gave a little smile and glanced up at him sidelong. “I…believe I would like to try that tonight, actually.”

Eric stopped, looking surprised. “Really? When I told yeh wha’s innit, yeh, said ye’d ne’er touch it.”

Alan shrugged a bit and he looked toward the setting sun. “I think my priorities have shifted. If my lover wants to cook his haggis for me, then I should at least give it a try.”

The taller reaper looked slightly pained for a moment, then tender. The breeze stirred his golden hair and he dared to take Alan’s hand in public. “If it weren’t fer us bein’ ou’side right now, I’d kiss yeh.”

Alan considered him for a moment, smiled and reached up to cup the back of his head. “What the hell,” he murmured, drawing Eric’s lips down for a kiss. The Scotsman put his arms around him and held him tight as they tossed away social propriety and shared a kiss.

"Wow," breathed Eric when they broke apart. "Tha’ was…" He caught sight of something across the street that gave him pause and had him blinking. "Oh mother of…is tha’ _Grell_?” He pointed.

Alan looked with a frown of confusion, and when he saw the outrageous redhead getting ready to cross the street—presumably to clock out in headquarters—he blinked as well. “I… _think_ so. Why is he dressed like that?”

They were all used to Grell donning women’s dresses now and then, but never the sort of business skirt-suit commonly worn by Shinigami librarians.

"Takin’ on a bit o’ side work, maybe?" contemplated Eric. He adjusted his blue-tinted glasses and eyed the redhead. "Hmm."

Alan nudged him. “You can stop staring, you Gaelic pervert.”

"Wha’? I wasnae starin’.  I was…er…jus’ looking.” Eric looked properly contrite, and he nodded in Grell’s direction. “Ye’ve got ta admit, he cleans up nice.”

Alan huffed. “I suppose. I have no idea what’s going on with that, but I’ve learned to stop questioning some of the things Sutcliff does.”

"Wise choice," agreed Eric with a grin. He looked at his companion with a twinkle in his eye. "Yeh know, I’ll bet yeh would look jus’ as fetching in—"

"No."

Eric tried again. “But maybe if yeh—”

"No, Eric. I’m willing to try your haggis. That should be sufficient enough a romantic gesture for tonight."

Eric sighed in mock defeat, and he chuckled and put an arm around the smaller man. “I’ll let it go fer now, then. I’ll no’ swipe it from tha table jus’ yet, though.”

Alan sighed, but he smirked with amusement.

~xox~

Undertaker was delighted to hear from Ronald again, even if it was just over the phone. The young Dispatch agent had quickly found a place in his heart, even if he was still cautious about letting him know it.

"And Miss Sutcliff actually did it?" He grinned over the mouthpiece of the telephone, easily imagining Grell in such a getup. "I shouldn’t be so surprised. He’s always enjoyed playing ‘dress-up’, to my knowledge. Still entertaining thoughts of being an actress, I presume?"

"Well, you know how Sutcliff-Senpai is," Ronald said in response. Undertaker could practically hear the wink in his voice. "But I’ve got to say; he’s pretty damned good. I know he was nervous as hell when it started out, but he played it up like a pro. I think Spears-Senpai sprang a happy."

The mortician chortled. “Ah, me. I do enjoy your slang…and I wish I were a fly on the wall to see that. Mayhap he can help that stiff sod loosen up a bit.”

"With any luck," sighed Ronald. "Hey, you know what?"

Undertaker propped the phone on his shoulder and started to dig through the files in his desk drawer. “What’s that, love?”

"I miss ya. Kind of. Well, a lot."

The ancient grinned again and flushed. Ronald managed to combine boyish charm with seduction; a thing he’d never been a master of, himself. “Do you, now? Well, we have one more day and then you can show me a night out, as promised.”

He dropped a folder on his desk and straightened up, holding the phone once more. “I’ve a confession to make myself, Mr. Knox.”

"Yeah? What’s that?"

Undertaker lowered his eyes. “I miss you too.”

"Really?" Ronald’s smile could be detected in his tone of voice. "What parts? Me showing up all bruised and beaten, or me…um…doing stuff to you?"

The mortician laughed. “Can’t say I missed seeing you in such a state, but I do miss…the things you’ve done to me. I miss your company, too. Are you still certain this is a good idea for you though, love? Dating a criminal?”

"Hey, I’d be an outlaw myself if I didn’t love my work so much," chided Ronald. "Just be ready for a bunch of kisses. I’ve been saving ‘em up for you."

"Affectionate fellow, aren’t you?" Undertaker’s grin returned. "I’ll take all the kisses you have to offer, my dear."

"Good, because there’s a lot of ‘em."

The ancient laughed again, charmed once more by Ronald’s ability to be so endearing and seductive at the same time.

~xox~

-To be continued  


	6. Chapter 6

He was there again, in that…that…outfit. William T. Spears glanced sidelong at his outrageous coworker as Grell walked past his study desk, carrying several books to be filed away. He’d braided his hair today in an elaborate fishtail, and it fell down his back to his hips, bound by a red and white-striped ribbon that matched the tie he wore with his usual work suit. Today the black heels he wore with his library uniform sported garnet gemstones studding the back of them, and pinned to his dress jacket was a gold, oval brooch with a smooth garnet stone set in the center. A fancy little magnifying glass dangled from the long, thin gold chain around his neck, and it bounced against his chest as he walked. Matching garnet studs adorned his earlobes.

No matter what color combination he wore, Grell always managed to give it a splash of red color. The ensemble looked good on him, and William checked a sigh as he tried to put his focus back into the old newspapers he’d selected as the day’s research material. He was half-tempted to demand that Grell stop working these volunteer shifts at the library, but he had no proof that it was some sort of elaborate scheme to get his attention.

He’d checked in on it and the redhead had shown up for a three hour shift the day before as well, when William hadn’t stopped by to do any research. He seemed genuinely interested in helping out, and despite his irritation over it, William had to admit that he was managing to divide his time sufficiently. He was punctual for work, he got all of his assigned reapings done and filed away by the end of each day, and the amount of books and records cluttering the “to be filed” piles in the library had significantly decreased.

He was starting to admire Grell’s work ethic, and that alone boggled his mind. Grell Sutcliff…responsible and hard working? The very idea would have made him scoff, if the evidence weren’t before his eyes. He glanced up from his paper just in time to see Grell bend over to put away one of the books on a bottom shelf, and he found his eyes following the length of his shapely calves up to the curve of his hips and ass.

Flushing a bit, the Dispatch supervisor compressed his lips and tore his eyes away from the vision. It was the outfit, not the reaper wearing it. He told himself that even as he glanced up again and watched Grell’s long braid fall over one shoulder to drag the floor. He had a sudden urge to go over to him and pick the braid up so that it wouldn’t get dirty.

_~This is ridiculous. I’m sure he’s up to something and I am tired of this distraction.~_

It was a convenient excuse to get out of his chair and approach the redhead. William straightened his tie and adjusted his glasses as he quietly crossed the distance, coming up behind Grell as the redhead reached up to place another book in an upper shelf. Without saying a word, William took him by the arm and dragged him further back, deeper between the bookshelves and out of sight.

"Will, what are you doing?" whispered Grell, his cheeks coloring suspiciously at the contact.

"I might ask you the same thing, Grell Sutcliff," the brunet whispered back, his jaw tense.

Grell sighed and put a hand on his hip. “Why, I’m filing books and records away, of course. What does it look like?”

William hesitated, unsure of how to answer that. He almost said it looked like he was trying to seduce him, but Grell hadn’t said more “good afternoon” to him since he’d come here. He just always seemed to find books to put away within sight of him, save for when he had to go to the second floor to file cinematic records for vault transferal.

"I don’t know," he admitted softly, "but I don’t believe for a moment that you are doing this to be a good team player."

Grell sighed and pulled his glasses off to wipe them with the little cloth he kept in his jacket pocket. “Then believe I’m trying to make up for all of my recent transgressions.” He looked at Will, blinking slowly. The effect of the sweep of long lashes shading his eyes almost appeared to make them change colors for a moment, darkening from neon yellow on green to amber on forest green.

William didn’t immediately register the answer, too distracted by the illusion. He regained his senses when Grell closed his eyes to replace his glasses again. “You have never shown an inkling of regret for your actions with the Ripper situation. The only thing you seemed to regret was having your death scythe confiscated.”

"But that’s been returned to me, darling," Grell reminded. He reached out to trace the collar of Will’s shirt with a languid finger, skimming over the flesh of his throat lightly in the process. "If that were all I cared about, why would I bother taking on additional work?"

"To get back on my good side," reasoned William. Grell’s touch made goosebumps spring up on his body and he was grateful that his clothing hid the effect.

Grell laughed lightly. “What ‘good side’? I’m not delusional, you cold, handsome thing. There hasn’t been a ‘good side’ of you for me to get on since we first began our lives as reapers, and I’m actually fine with that…mm-hmm.”

He leaned in close to purr into the brunet’s ear. “In fact, I’m sure you’ve noticed that I rather enjoy staying on your ‘bad side’.” He smiled and withdrew, straightening his brooch absently. “But not everything is about you, insufferable perfectionist. I simply have some free time on my hands and chose to grant a favor to some librarians I associate with. Now be a dear and let me get back to work.”

William was frankly speechless. The whole left side of his face was tingling from Grell speaking into his ear, and he stared after him as the redhead blew a kiss and sauntered away, high-heels clicking lightly on the floor.

~xox~

Grell went to the restroom and locked the door as soon as he left William’s side. Sighing with adrenaline-tinged relief, he leaned back against the door and put a hand over his racing heart. If only the men in his life knew how much of his flirtation and bravado was really an act. He didn’t truly feel as confident as he let on when he played these games, and being grabbed by Will like that had immediately filled his head with fantasies of getting shoved up against the bookshelves and ravished by him. It was so much easier when he stopped entertaining the hope that Will would come around and give in.

He titled his head back and closed his eyes, willing his pulse to slow again. He reached into his pocket for his phone and he quick-dialed Ronald. “It’s me,” he sighed, smiling in spite of himself and letting his body slide down the door until he was sitting on the floor. “Stage two is complete, Ronald. I think he’s beginning to crack.”

~xox~

"Wha’s so funny?" Eric inquired as the younger blond he was doing paperwork with suddenly cackled.

Ronald shushed him and replied to his mentor on the other line. “That’s great. Keep it up and I know you’ll get what you want. I’ve got to go…call me after work, okay?”

Eric still looked curious, but he returned his attention to his paperwork. “Yeh seem ta be takin’ on a lo’ of extra paperwork lately, Ronnie. Did yeh do somethin’ ta get in trouble again?”

The younger reaper sighed and leaned back in the chair he was sitting in. It was always so much nicer to do work in one of his senpai’s offices, rather than the little cubicle he was assigned to. “Not yet. I’m just helping someone out for a little while.”

"Hmph. Tryin’ ta get down ano’er target’s pants, are yeh?"

Ronald chuckled and shook his head. “No…more like I’m trying to help someone get down someone _else’s_ pants. I’m just taking on a little of their work to give them more free time.”

The Scotsman checked his watch. “Well, ye’d best hurry it up. We’ve only go’ another hour before it’s time ta clock out.”

"Yeah, yeah…I hear ya." Ronald straightened another completed stack and put it in the proper basket. "My friend out to be finished with what she’s doing soon and she can stay late and finish whatever I can’t get to. I’ve got somewhere to be tonight."

"Ah-ha! It’s a ‘she’, is it?" Eric grinned. "Always a sucker fer th’ ladies, Knox."

"Hey, you’re one to talk," accused the younger man. "Until you and Alan hooked up, you were as notorious a player as I ever was. Heck, I even took some pointers from you."

The Scotsman nodded. “Aye, an’ they worked, din’ they?”

"Like a charm." Ronald grinned. "But uh…just between you and me, I think I’m slowing down a little."

"You?" scoffed Eric. "I dun’ believe it fer a moment."

"It’s true," insisted Ronald. He checked the clock. "In fact I’ve got another hot date tonight with the only person I’ve been seeing since…well, for a couple of weeks."

"Tha’s no’ really a record," the older reaper pointed out with a smirk.

"But I’ve totally lost interest in anyone else."

Eric’s brows shot up, and he whistled low. “Could it be yer at risk ta suffer th’ same fate as me, Ronnie?”

The boy shrugged. “Who knows? All I know right now is I really like this one. Haven’t even tried to go all the way yet. I’m trying to wait, ya know?”

"Och, Heaven help ye, lad." Eric chuckled and shook his head, looking back down at his paperwork. "Heaven help ye."

Ronald chuckled too. This was one of the things he liked about Eric; the man was content to listen without prying for details, trusting that his companions would part with them whenever they were ready to.

~xox~

He was going stir crazy. It was an odd thing to experience, for the Undertaker. He’d been a recluse for so long that he almost forgot what it was like to get out and do things. His little adventures with the Viscount and the dollies had given him a taste of what it was like to spread his wings a little, but that time was over now. He thought he’d be fine with being on house arrest. After all, his shop and his lab were his favorite places to be, and he’d missed the place. Then Ronnie cam along with his adventurous, free-spirited nature and the ancient reaper found himself thinking it was a shame to expect the boy to keep cooping himself up in the mortuary with him.

He started to pace, stepping lightly onto coffins and walking the length of them before hopping down with a cat-like ease. They were supposed to go on their picnic tonight…in the park. He wasn’t quite ready for a fancy dinner and dancing, but he could at least do the park. That blasted anxiety was coming back, though. He’d done all right when he and Ronald ate in, but he was in his element…his home. How would he be out in the open, under the stars? He wanted to get out, yet he wanted to stay there. So many conflicting desires.

_~It’s times like this I could really use the old me.~_

But Ronald had a way of bringing that buried part of him peeking back out, once the ice was broken. Perhaps it would be the same tonight.

~xox~

"Finally," sighed Ronald when Grell messaged him to meet up in the redhead’s office. Eric had already left and he’d allowed him to stay in his office with the promise that he’d lock up when he was finished. Ronald grabbed the rest of Grell’s paperwork and hurried down the hall to his office, anxious to get going so that he wouldn’t be late meeting up with the Undertaker.

"Ya know I’ve got a date tonight," said the blond as he walked in and shut the door. Grell had changed back into his usual work attire and cleaned off some of his makeup.

"Why doesn’t that surprise me?" sighed the redhead, checking his reflection in the compact mirror. He looked at the paperwork in Ronald’s hands and he smiled. "Thank you for taking care of that, Ronnie. I think this plan of yours may actually be starting to work."

"Of course it is," agreed the younger reaper with a grin. "Spears-Senpai might be stubborn and aloof, but he’s still got needs like the rest of us."

He walked over to Grell’s desk and put the small stack on it, scratching the back of his head. “I tried to finish up as much as I could, but there’s only so many hours in the work day.”

"It’s fine, Ronnie," assured Grell. "I’ve chosen this battle for love and I will handle the overtime. I never would have gathered the courage to try this idea if it weren’t for you. Now get your cute tush out of my office and enjoy your date, darling. Anyone I know?"

"Uh, maybe." Ronald shrugged, uncomfortable but not quite ready to tell the volatile redhead the truth. "Probably not someone you hang out with much. Okay, well I’ve gotta get going if I’m not going to be late. I’ll see you tomorrow, Senpai!"

Grell watched him go as he hurried out the door, and he clucked his tongue and began to go through his remaining paperwork. “That boy can be so high-strung.”

~xox~

The sudden knocking on his door actually startled Undertaker so badly that he slipped and fell off the coffin he’d been pacing on. His hat seemed to hover in mid-air for a split second as the owner dropped like a stone, and then it drifted to the floor beside the groaning mortician.

"My, that was clumsy of me," muttered the Undertaker. He reached for his hat and crammed it back on his head, before getting to his feet again. He’d considered dressing up for the occasion, but he had a poor assortment of dressy clothes to choose from. The suit he’d worn when masquerading as the principal at the boy’s school was the only thing he had that wasn’t dated, and he thought that was a bit much for a visit to the park.

"Coming!" He went to the door and unlocked it, plastering his usual wide grin on his face as he opened it to admit Ronald. "Hi, hi. Nice evening, don’t you think?"

Ronald glanced around at the dimming skyline and he nodded. “At least it’s not raining.” He was smiling too with obvious, boyish excitement and he entered the shop and closed the door behind him, looking the taller reaper up and down. “You don’t need the act around me, ‘Taker.”

Undertaker cocked his head. “Act?”

Ronald smirked. “Yeah. The voice, the waving your arms around. You don’t need to do that. I’ve already met the guy beneath the robes, remember?”

"Ah, _that_.” Undertaker sighed and chuckled, righting his posture a bit. His voice smoothed out a bit, though he retained the British accent. “Second nature to me, my boy. I’ve prepared our dinner basket and it’s waiting in the kitchen, though. Why don’t we have a spot of tea before we’re on our way, hmm?”

"Sounds good." Ronald began to follow him to the back curtain, and he stopped. "Hey, ‘Taker…could I ask you to do something?"

The mortician turned to regard him curiously. “What might that be, love?”

"Ditch the outer robes and the hat." Ronald smiled. "I kind of like that getup you wear underneath all that and I can get a better glimpse of those eyes when the hat’s not smushing your bangs down so much over them."

Undertaker hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded and pulled his hat off by the brim. “Who am I to refuse the request of my date? As you like, Ronnie; the hat and the robe will be ‘ditched’.”

Ronald smiled again in approval, watching as he hung the hat on the rack and shed his robe and scarf to hang them up beside it. He whistled softly, his gaze traveling the older reaper’s form admiringly. “See, now your physique isn’t so hidden. I like that.”

The mortician grinned and flushed slightly. “Trying to make an old chap blush, are you?”

"Looks like I’m doing a good job of it," chuckled Ronald. He loved making that happen. He closed the distance and he looked up at the mortician. "Now how about a ‘hello’ kiss?"

"Don’t those typically occur after a d—"

Ronald didn’t give him the chance to complete his sentence. He put his arms around his neck and drew him down for a deep, satisfying kiss that made them both breathless. It went on a little longer than he intended, and he was tempted to let his hands wander. Ronald broke the kiss and smiled, breathing a little faster.

"Damn, when I kiss you I just don’t wanna stop," he confessed.

"I may suffer a similar issue," agreed the mortician with a smile of his own. "You still have one more date after this one to impress me though, Ronnie."

"Yeah, I know. I’d better make it count, huh? How about that tea?"

Undertaker inclined his head and pulled the curtain aside. “After you, love.”

~xox~

The sun had gone down by the time they finished their tea, and Ronald made use of Undertaker’s toilet before going out. The blond Shinigami agent had to fight snickers as they passed through the streets to the nearest park. His date really stood out. Lean and tall, with miles of silver hair spilling down his back, the long button-up black garment hugging his torso and loosening past the waist and those “fuck me” boots—as Ronald had started to call them—drew some attention. He doubted people even noticed the comparatively shorter blond at his side; they kept staring at the Undertaker. Some appeared to be trying to figure out where they’d seen him before, while others just seemed drawn to his exoticism.

"Almost there," he assured the older reaper when he noticed the way Undertaker began to walk with his head bowed. Maybe it was better that way, because if the wind happened to blow his bangs back and give folks a glimpse of his face and eyes, they’d never stop staring.

"Just let me know when to turn," requested the mortician.

Ronald felt a little bad for convincing him to go without his hat and robes. Now that he thought of it, the man always seemed to hide his appearance in some way whenever he set foot outside his shop. Aboard the Campania was the first time he’d ever seen a glimpse of what he looked like beneath those layers, and Undertaker didn’t part with that little reveal until the discovery that he was the mastermind behind the Bizarre Dolls.

"Okay, turn left at this corner and the park’s just around the block."

Undertaker did so and thankfully, there weren’t many people out on this side street. Ron could see the fencing of the small park up ahead, and since it was just a minor one, he reckoned there shouldn’t be too many people around. Hyde park attracted more visitors at night.

"Here we are." Ronald smiled and took Undertaker’s free hand. "And look…nobody around."

The mortician raised his head and had a glance around. “Not that I could really tell if there were,” he chuckled ruefully. “I couldn’t tell a person apart from a bush, ‘till we got close enough. Maybe I should consider donning those weak, mortal manufactured glasses I have in my…oh wait…they were in my robe.”

Ronald kept forgetting that Undertaker was just as vision impaired as other Shinigami, and with no proper corrective glasses everything must be pretty blurry for him. That meant he couldn’t really see the stars, either. The blond touched his own glasses in thought, and an idea came to him.

"Come on," he urged, tugging the taller man’s hand. "I see a hill up ahead by the path. Looks like a good spot to sit and chow down."

The ancient followed without complaint, holding the picnic basket in one hand and Ronald’s hand in the other. They climbed the small hill and Ronald checked around before nodding in satisfaction. “Yeah, this’ll be great. No trees up here so we get a clear view of the moon and sky. Looks like it’s uh…waxing crescent tonight?”

Undertaker looked up where Ronald was pointing, combing his bangs back from his eyes as he squinted. “Hmm, difficult to say. It looks like a smudge to me so it could be a quarter or gibbus, for all I can tell. I’ve got a telescope I sometimes use on the top of my roof to stargaze. It’s about the only way I can see the night sky clearly at all.”

Ronald took his glasses off and tapped the mortician on the shoulder. Undertaker looked down at him with a tiny frown of confusion on his lips.

"I’m not giving them up," assured the agent with a wink. "Just loaning them to ya for a while. Try ‘em on and see if they help."

"I’m sure we don’t share a prescription," said Undertaker hesitantly.

The blond shrugged. “They could still help you see better than those human glasses you’ve got. Why don’t you give it a shot?”

The older reaper reached out hesitantly and plucked the custom-shaped glasses from Ronald’s outstretched hand. “I suppose a peek can’t hurt.”

He slowly fitted them over his eyes and looked around. A smile curved his lips. “My, my. They aren’t as strong as my old prescription, but this really is the clearest I’ve seen anything at a distance for quite some time.”

Ronald’s smile took to his ears at the expression of delight on that angelic face. The only problem was now he couldn’t see those features as clearly, and he stepped a little closer to remedy that. “So tell me if I was right about the moon phase. Is it waxing crescent?”

Undertaker turned his head and looked up to the east, where the moon was just rising above the buildings. “Waning,” he corrected. He turned to look at the blond again with a toothy grin that kind of reminded Ronald of the shape of the moon. “But you got the crescent part right, my dear.”

"Well, I guess I’m not a totally lost cause then." Ronald chuckled and stuck his hands into his pockets, unable to stop staring at him. The light of said moon and stars bathed Undertaker’s pale hair with luminance, and the dim lights of the park added warmth to it. "You look really nice in my glasses, by the way."

Hell, he looked really nice in _any_ glasses. Sophisticated.

"I think I prefer them on you, though," answered the older reaper, and he started to take them off to return them.

Ronald held up a hand to stall him. “Why don’t you keep wearing them for a while, unless they start giving you a headache or something? That can be my special gift for this date; the gift of sight. Makes me feel kind of like a saint.”

Undertaker smirked. “You, a saint?”

Ronald shrugged and grinned. “Okay, maybe not a saint. How about a magician instead? Like those guys that can do card tricks and pull a rabbit out of their hat.”

"I can do all that, you know."

Ronald perked up. “Are you kidding?”

"Not at all." Undertaker gave him a little bow. "I’m a student of comedy and illusions as much as anatomy, after all."

"Okay, this I’ve gotta see."

Undertaker started to reach up, then he spread his hands and sighed. “I don’t have my hat with me…or anything else, for that matter.” He tilted his head and gazed at him slyly. “But I may have one small bit I can show you.”

Ronald was still young enough to be impressed by magic tricks. “Let’s see it, then.”

Undertaker reached out and seemed to pluck something from behind Ronald’s right ear. Between his thumb and index finger, he held a coin. “Look at that,” he said with a grin, “you’ve got half the fare for a trip across the river Styx.”

Ronald impulsively reached up to check behind his ears, and he rolled his eyes. “That’s probably your money. I’ll bet you just palmed it.”

"Think so, do you?" Undertaker’s grin didn’t fade. "I don’t keep coin on my person, darlin’. I think if you check your wallet, you’ll find you’re missing a shilling."

The blond looked at him suspiciously, and he dug his wallet out to check. He blinked. He _was_ missing a shilling from the coin pocket where he’d put his human money for tonight. He’d brought some so they could maybe stop somewhere for a drink after the park.

"Okay, how’d you do that?" he asked in awe.

Undertaker winked. “That’s a secret.”

"Aw, come on and tell me," pleaded Ronald.

The mortician handed back the shilling to him. “My dear lad, a good magician never gives up his secrets. Now let’s get this blanket spread out so we can eat before the hot chocolate gets cold.”

"You brought hot chocolate?" Ronald perked up.

"From scratch," assured the ancient.

He set the basket on the ground to retrieve the thin blanket he’d packed on top of the food, and with Ronald’s help he spread it out on the ground. The meal he’d prepared consisted of potato salad, sausages and toasted sandwiches. He’d brought two beakers to pour the thermos of hot chocolate into and Ronald made a mental note to buy the man some cups and glasses. After enjoying their picnic, they packed everything back into the basket and enjoyed a little stroll through the park.

"Tell me," urged Ronald as they walked, curious as hell to find out how Undertaker had pulled off that coin trick.

"No."

"Why not?"

Undertaker’s mouth twitched. “I’ve already told you; it’s a secret.”

"Well, it could be _your_ gift to _me_ for the night,” insisted the blond. “Hey, I loaned you my glasses. Please?”

Undertaker stopped and looked at him, trying to put on an annoyed expression but failing to make it all that convincing, thanks to the way his mouth was quirked with amusement. “Does this sort of pestering usually work on your associates?”

Ronald grinned boyishly. “You’d be surprised.”

"Persistent little bugger, aren’t you?"

Ron was un-apologetic. “I got _you_ to go out with me, didn’t I?”

"Touché," chuckled the ancient. "All right, if I spoil this one trick for you, don’t ask me to give away any others I might be inclined to show you. Will that suffice?"

Ronald nodded.

"You dropped it on the floor on our way out of the shop. I pocketed it. By funny coincidence, the subject turned to magic tricks and you opened up the opportunity for me to return it to you and make you smile at the same time."

"That’s it?" Ronald was a little disappointed. He’d expected to find out the older man had somehow teleported the coin from his wallet to his hand. "But that makes me half right. You _did_ have it on you already.”

"Ah, but you implied it belonged to me," corrected the Undertaker with a grin, "which it did not."

"Hmph…sneaky old man. I’m going to have to keep an eye on you."

The mortician laughed softly. “That one was rather simple. I could show you a couple more, when we return to my shop.”

Ronald linked arms with him. “That’d be cool. So, how about a drink at the pub, like we talked about?”

"I think that can be arranged," agreed the taller reaper. "Oh, but wait…that’s out of my range and I’ve already slipped the leash once this week."

"Damn, I forgot about that," sighed Ronald. "Well, there’s a little tavern just around the block from your place. Maybe we could go there."

Undertaker grimaced. “Not unless you feel like drinking piss-water with drowned roaches floating in it. I work with the dead and that place gives me the willies.”

Ron made a face at the description. “Wow…they’d never get away with that in Shinigami realm. Hmm…then how about we just stop somewhere on the way back for some liquor and mix our own at your place?”

Undertaker looked oddly regretful. “It seems that may be the best option. I’m sorry, my dear. I know dates with me must be terribly dull.”

"Are you kidding?" Ronald grinned and shook his head. "You can do magic tricks. Plus you’re sexy…and your place isn’t bad at all, once you get through the shop. Not that your shop is bad," he amended hastily, "I mean, that’s nice too if you’re into skulls and bottles and coffins."

The ancient chuckled. “Not much deters you, does it? Very well then; we’ll try your suggestion.”

~xox~

Undertaker was more familiar with the shops in the area, so he took Ronald to the best liquor shop within range of his travel limitations. He selected a bottle of his favorite brandy, and Ronald selected gin and some tonic to go with it. They made their way from there back to the shop and thankfully, Undertaker had some lemons growing on a tree out back and he cordially plucked one of them for Ronald to use with his drink. Once they finished mixing their drinks and sat down in the parlor, Ronald started encouraging him to show him some tricks.

"You said you could pull a rabbit out of your hat," he reminded him with a wink. I really wanna see that."

Undertaker looked over at the top-hat that he’d transferred from the shop coat rack to the one in his parlor. “I did make a promise, didn’t I?”

Smiling, he set his drink on the coffee table, gave Ronald’s glasses back to him and got up to fetch the hat. Ronald twisted on the sofa to watch as he replaced his glasses on his face, eager as a boy at the Circus. It reminded the ancient of how young this Dispatch agent truly was, and for a brief moment he hesitated, wondering what in death’s name he thought he was doing with him. Ronald was still finding his way in reaper life, and youth could be fickle. Still green, he probably required a lot of attention to keep satisfied and was it really fair for a young fellow like him to be involved with an old bloke like Undertaker?

_~But he makes me happy. He’s brought laughter back, and I thought I had lost it.~_

The childish simplicity of his own selfishness reminded the Undertaker that beneath it all, he was rather a big kid himself. He had more in common with Ronald Knox than he’d initially thought.

"Are you going to stand there staring at me, or are ya going to show me the trick?" demanded Ronald with a teasing grin.

Undertaker grinned back, putting aside his doubts. He’d never let compunctions get in the way of what he wanted before; and he was tired of being alone. “Right. Hold onto your britches, lad.”

He concentrated and mumbled gibberish, flipping the hat upside down and waving his hand over the brim with a wiggle of his fingers. “Oh look…someone left their _hare_ in my hat! How rude.”

He reached into the depths of the top-hat and produced a little white rabbit, pulling it up by the scruff of its neck to present it with a grin. Ronald’s eyes widened with delight and he clapped his hands. Endeared by his reaction, the mortician hung the hat back up and supported the squirming rabbit’s bottom with his free hand, carrying it over to him.

"Want to hold him, love?"

Ronald nodded and reached out with his hands. Undertaker gently deposited the bunny in them, and he immediately jumped free of Ronald’s arms and scampered across the floor.

"Aw, whoops," exclaimed Ronald in dismay.

"Fluffy! You get back here!" Undertaker gave chase, embarrassed. "That’s no way to treat a guest!"

The rabbit squirmed beneath the sofa. Scratching his head, the mortician looked at his date and he shrugged. “Fancy a rabbit-hunt, love?”

Grinning, Ronald got off the sofa and nodded. “It’s gotta be more fun than the last one.”

The responsive reference to his comment aboard the Campania just before the fight broke out made Undertaker grin.

~xox~

After chasing Fluffy around for a good ten minutes amidst laughter and jokes, they finally cornered the little bugger and Undertaker offered to let Ronald carry him back to his cage. “Just keep a good, firm hold on him this time,” advised the mortician.

The blond nodded and held the rabbit close to his chest, holding him securely without squishing him. He petted the soft fur as he followed his date out the back door of his living quarters and into the small yard outside. “Hey, how come we never saw this guy when we came and did our last inspection?”

"I only got him yesterday," answered the mortician. "A woman came by my shop selling them, and I thought it might be nice to have something alive to chat with now and then."

He opened a fair-sized hutch made of wood and chicken wire, filled with hay. “Built it myself,” he said with a grin, gesturing at the object. “Go ahead and drop him in, Ronnie. He could probably use a bit of quiet time after being startled like that.”

Ronald gave the bunny one last pat, and he gently deposited him into the hutch. Fluffy immediately scrambled to the thickest batch of hay and burrowed under it to hide. “Goodnight, Mr. Fluffy,” said the blond.

Undertaker closed the hutch and secured it. He checked the rabbit’s water bowl and nodded in satisfaction. “I’ll have to bring him out a carrot later for his troubles. Let’s go back inside.”

"Sure. We’ve still got drinks waiting for us. Got any other tricks you can show me?"

Undertaker chuckled. “I can do a few things with scarves and cards.” He held the door open for him and he waited for Ronald to pass through before following him inside. “Go ahead to the parlor, love. I’ll fetch some things from my goody box.”

"Okay!"

The mortician pressed two fingers against his smiling lips as he watched his guest go through the kitchen to the parlor. It was nice to have someone around that could appreciate the silly little things he did for amusement, and true to his word, Ronnie hadn’t pestered him to reveal how the trick was done. Perhaps it was because he realized it was more fun to pretend it was really magic.

~xox~

Undertaker performed several tricks involving his hat, cards and scarves. Ronald had a blast watching him, and he thought he was a very good performer. He almost suggested he take up work as a magician on the side to earn a little extra cash, but he realized he would be severely limited on where he could perform while he was on probation. He’d probably suffer some stage fright too, given that shy side of him that he managed to keep hidden so well.

When he was finished entertaining, the ancient sat down with him again for another drink and they talked about other things. “Have your injuries finished healing?”

Ron rubbed his right side at the mention of them, and he shrugged. “Mostly. I’ve still got some tender scarring on my torso but the doc says it’ll fade away in another week and I’ll be good as new.”

Undertaker nodded, his eyes going to the spot that Ronald had just been rubbing. “Mind if I have a look?”

"Uh…" It wasn’t exactly his idea of the most romantic thing to do on a date, but Ronald could see the concern in those compelling, expressive eyes of his. He really loved gazing into those eyes, and he was grateful that the mortician had combed his bangs aside enough for him to see them. "Sure, why not. Knock yourself out."

"Good. Unbutton your blazer and shirt for me, please."

The clinical demeanor was back. Ronald didn’t care for that; they were on a date, after all. He leaned back against the cushion of the sofa and he rested one arm over the back of it, holding his drink with one hand. “How about you do it for me, doc?” He winked at him.

The mortician smirked. “So that’s how you’re going to play it, eh?”

Ronald nodded. “You said you wanted to have a look. I’m not stopping you.” His eyes held a playful challenge in them.

Undertaker set his drink down. “Very well, then.”

He began to deftly flick open Ronald’s blazer and shirt, his eyes holding his. Ronald swallowed. He hadn’t expected him to gaze at him like that.

_~Like he’s…making love to me with his eyes. Damn, that’s hot. Mental note to self: liquor cures ‘Taker’s shyness.~_

It certainly seemed that way. There was a very pale blush in the mortician’s cheeks, brought about by either the brandy he’d consumed, his own boldness or passion. It was hard for Ronald to say. Before the blond knew it, the material of his upper garments were open and his chest and stomach were bared to view. Undertaker’s riveting gaze dropped, the pale lashes concealing their reflective glow as the mortician looked down at the visible pink stripes of healing scar tissue on Ronald’s torso. Released from the spell of his eyes, the young reaper found he could draw breath again. It halted immediately when those long, pale fingers traced the scars lightly, the nails gently skimming over his flesh.

"Seems to be coming along nicely," murmured the Undertaker in a deep, sultry voice.

Ronald swallowed again. “Y-yeah. Coming along.”

He was quickly getting a hard-on as the skilled fingers caressed his bared skin. Undertaker raised his eyes again to meet his, and Ronald was again trapped like a mouse in a trap. Jeepers, but the man could seduce with that gaze. Ronald didn’t dare move—not even to take a breath—as the Undertaker’s face drew nearer.

"This obviously isn’t how I usually conduct an examination," the mortician whispered, his breath tickling Ronald’s lips. Their mouths were barely an inch apart.

"Hope not," Ronald whispered back, "or I might get jealous."

Undertaker smiled, and he closed the remaining distance to kiss him. It was soft at first; almost tentative…and then those silken lips pressed fully against his. Ronald barely checked a groan of desire, immediately going full-mast in his trousers. The Undertaker’s tongue danced along the crease between his lips, silently requesting entry. Ronald parted them to give him access and he stroked the moist tongue as it darted gently into his mouth. He remembered to breathe again as the older reaper’s hand flattened over his stomach and stroked upwards to his chest—couldn’t help _but_ , since it made him gasp. The thumb brushed over his left nipple teasingly, making it pebble and tingle with sensation.

Ronald dropped his arm from the back of the sofa to run his fingers through the pale glory of his date’s hair, hardly believing the man had initiated this. He remained docile, giving him the chance to assert himself if he wanted to. A little moan arose in his throat as Undertaker pleasured the other nipple briefly, tweaking it between his fingertips before giving it a gentle rub. The sound was muffled in the kiss, and his breath quickened as his heartbeat accelerated.

There was something different in the way the mortician was kissing him now…something more assertive than what Ron was used to, yet still gentle. It excited him. He could top or bottom for this guy…whatever he wanted. Undertaker broke the kiss and Ronald almost protested, until those coaxing lips moved on to his neck. He tilted his head to the side and moaned again, louder this time. He nearly jumped when Undertaker’s hand settled on his straining crotch, but he relaxed immediately, not wanting to give him the idea that his touch was unwelcome. He thought of their first sensual encounter—the one that made him want more—and he gasped his name.

“‘Taker…God, I want you.”

"Shh," admonished the ancient against his throat. "No talking, lovely. I’m taking my turn now."

 He began to massage and squeeze Ron’s hard-on through his pants, and the blond’s eyes fluttered shut with pleasure. He started to tell him it felt good, but he checked himself just in time and he stroked his hair encouragingly. He wanted to touch him back, but he got the distinct feeling by the mortician’s words that it wouldn’t be welcome, right now. This confident lover now fondling and kissing him must be a reflection of what Undertaker once was, back before whatever had happened to make him change so much.

Ronald felt the button on his trousers pop open, and then he heard the zipper being dragged down. He lifted his hips a little in eagerness, pushing into his companion’s hand as it reached into his underwear to ease his erection out.

"Oh…sh-shit," he moaned in spite of his efforts to keep his trap shut.

Undertaker reached his free arm around behind the blond’s head to cup the side of his face, his mouth again laying claim to Ronald’s as he began to stroke him off. It seemed like such a simple, subtle action but it conveyed a demand for submission, and Ronald flushed and let his tongue dominate his mouth. It thrust and curled inside, stroking his sensually in a way that said: “ _You are mine_.”

Ronald had never felt so utterly trusting in a partner before. He’d never felt like he would do absolutely anything asked of him, and he whimpered into the kiss, submitting to it completely. Undertaker’s hand moved with confident care, squeezing gently, then more firmly until it discovered just the right amount of pressure to make his body sing. Up and down it stroked, torturously slow at first until Ron began to thrust into it pleadingly, wanting more. 

"So eager," purred the mortician, breaking the kiss to lavish attention on his throat again. His mouth moved against his skin, his hot breath caressing the damp flesh as he licked and sucked at it.

"Damn…straight," agreed Ronald breathlessly.

"Shh," chastised Undertaker again, his lips smiling against his throat.

His hand’s stroking began to pick up speed, and Ronald groaned in appreciation. He kissed his way down to his clavicle, then to his chest, his lips leaving a moist trail as he went. Ronald’s back arched as his tongue circled around his nipple and flicked against it, provoking an additional thrill of sensation. The mortician tugged at the bud with his lips as he sped up his stroking even more, and Ronald’s breath hitched as his balls started to tighten.

"Are you close, Ronnie?" questioned the ancient, slowing his strokes again. He smiled and he left off kissing his chest to kiss him on the mouth again, his tongue plundering and stroking inside.

Ronald shuddered, one hand still clenched around his drink and the other stroking Undertaker’s hair unsteadily. He couldn’t voice the expletives that sprang to mind as he began to reach that heavenly peak of climax, and he tried to hold back. He might have laughed at himself, if he had the breath to do it. He’d caught Undertaker doing the same thing the first time they had an encounter, and he’d told him to let go. Maybe he ought to follow his own advice.

"I’m…gonna spill my drink," he warned breathlessly against the older reaper’s lips.

"Better not," warned Undertaker softly. "I just had this sofa re-upholstered."

Ronald made a point of trying to concentrate on keeping his gin and tonic upright—which somewhat took the edge off of what his companion was doing to him enough to make it last longer. He moaned steadily, hips jerking of their own accord as the Undertaker sped up his strokes again. It built steadily, until Ronald was panting and tossing his head, Undertaker’s name spilling from his lips. He bucked into his hand and he hardly noticed when the mortician retracted his arm around him to cup his palm over the top of his shaft, keeping the mess from his orgasm localized so that it didn’t splatter anything.

Ron’s head fell back against the back of the sofa, and a silly grin curved his lips. “Can I talk now?” he asked breathlessly.

Undertaker nodded, and he used one of the scarves he’d been performing tricks with earlier to wipe off his hand and Ronald’s sated groin. “Talk away, love.”

"Best…date…ever."

The mortician chortled with amusement and kissed him softly on the chin. “Even though you didn’t get down my pants?”

Ronald’s head lolled to the side to look at him. “I’ve still got one date left to try that.”

"Indeed you do, my dear."

Undertaker tucked him back into his pants and did them up again, but he left his shirt and blazer hanging open as he put an arm around him and snuggled him. Ronald leaned his head against his shoulder and closed his eyes, still breathing heavily. “Wow. I never know what’s going to happen with you.” He sipped his drink absently, trying to calm his racing pulse.

"Hmph…neither do I," confessed the ancient.

~xox~

-To be continued 


	7. Chapter 7

Ronald came to work the next day feeling refreshed and a little giddy. Every time he closed his eyes, he thought of the Undertaker’s hands on him…his kisses. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but he was determined to rope this one in and keep him. He’d wanted plenty of reapers before—both male and female—but never this badly. There was something about the man that drew him like a moth to the flame. His sense of humor, his wisdom, that sensuality that he kept so carefully hidden beneath his hair and those robes…the more time he spent with him, the more Ron wanted him.

"Ronald? Did you hear me?"

The blond turned to look at the reaper speaking to him, and he recognized Alan Humphries. He smiled at the brunet—one of the only active duty reapers close to his age. “Oh, hey Alan. What’s up?”

"I’m clocking in," answered the brunet in a softly teasing voice, "and you should be too, but you’ve been standing there in front of the time clock with a goofy smile on your face for over a minute."

Ronald felt a blush threatening, and he turned around again to correct the problem. “Yeah, sorry about that. Guess I’m not totally awake yet.”

"And who might you be day-dreaming of?" questioned Alan with amusement. "A new girl? Or is it a guy, this time?"

"Not telling," said Ronald in a breezy voice. He shot the other Dispatch agent a smirk. "Maybe it’s your guy."

Alan didn’t even bat an eyelash. “Eric is faithful to me, despite his flirtatious nature. Better be careful about teasing of that sort around other reapers though, Ron. Not everyone’s as secure in their relationships as I am and you could wind up in a fight or get someone in trouble with their partner.”

"Yeah, sorry." Ronald took his time card and clocked in. "I guess that was pretty crass of me, huh?"

"Just thoughtless," corrected Alan. He stepped up to clock in next when Ronald moved out of the way. "Do you know what’s been going on with Grell, lately? He looked like he was dragging his feet a little when I saw him clock in earlier."

To his chagrin, Ronald hadn’t even noticed his senpai when he arrived. His head was so busy replaying his date with the Undertaker that he barely saw anything around him as he came in. “He’s just taking on a little extra work,” he excused, “helping out in the library for a while, until the death rate goes down again. I guess we’re as short on library staff as we are on reaping agents.”

"Oh?" Alan looked intrigued, his sculpted features lighting up a little. "Well that explains why Eric and I saw him crossing the street dressed up as a librarian yesterday. Although he could have just as easily worn a pantsuit like the male librarians…but that’s Grell for you. Any excuse to put on ladies’ wear."

Ronald chuckled. “You know Sutcliff-Senpai.”

"That’s surprisingly generous of him, though." Alan walked with him to the elevator. "Maybe we ought to think of doing a little volunteer work ourselves."

"Dispatch is already busy as hell as it is," reminded the blond, quietly horrified by the thought of even more added onto his workload. He didn’t mention that he was already taking on some of Grell’s reaping assignments and paperwork so that he could conduct their little scheme without getting too overworked. If he took on any more, he’d never find time for his third—and hopefully not final—date with his love interest.

"I understand that, and I know you’ve been working hard too," Alan assured him. He stepped into the elevator and held it open for Ronald. "I meant Eric and I. We don’t have such a busy after-work schedule and doing a little extra filing won’t be too stressful on me."

The depressing reminder of Alan’s condition sobered Ron a little. He felt selfish all the sudden, worrying about getting some nookie time while his co-worker—whose days were quite literally numbered—was contemplating giving even more of his precious time to work.

"I don’t think ya should do that," Ronald said as the doors closed and he selected their floor.

"Really? Why not?"

Ron sighed and looked at him sidelong. “I think you should take every spare minute you’ve got and do things that make _you_ happy…walk on the beach with your man, go out dancing, whatever. Don’t give up those minutes to more work.”

"Oh." Alan lowered his gaze. "When you put it that way…"

Ronald winced. “Man, I’m sorry to bring it up. I just think of anyone deserves free time, it’s you. Let other reapers take up the slack and grab every moment ya can. Hell, I wouldn’t even come to work anymore, if it were me.”

Alan’s expression softened. “But I’m a Dispatch agent…and I like my job and plan to keep doing it until I can no longer handle it.” He smiled softly at Ronald. “But I think you’re right; I should spend my free time doing things with Eric, while I’m still healthy enough to get out and do them.”

Ron patted his shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Whoops…this is my floor.” He’d been prepared to go one more floor up with Alan because he was so used to borrowing his superiors’ offices to do his work, he sometimes forgot he was even still on the cubicle floor. He had to at least check his cubicle for memos and his daily assignment list before he joined Grell in his office.

"I’ll see you in a little while," Alan said with a little smirk. He shared an office with his partner and he was quite used to seeing Ronald going in and out of Grell’s office.

"Yup, see you in a few," agreed the blond, and he stepped off the elevator.

~xox~

"You look fine, Senpai," Ronald assured him when entered Grell’s office and found him fussing with makeup and a compact mirror.

"I look tired," corrected Grell with a sigh. "I need more beauty sleep!" He blended some concealer beneath his eyes, fretting softly to himself.

"It’s not that bad," insisted Ronald. "Just have some coffee as a pick-me-up and you’ll be fine. Besides, today isn’t one of Spears-Senpai’s days to go to the library, is it?"

"No, but he still sees me leaving," reminded Grell. "I want to look my best when I walk past his office."

Ron almost rolled his eyes at that, but he reminded himself that _he_ was the one that convinced Grell to try this scheme in the first place. “Tell you what; I’ll go and get us some coffee while you change clothes. I’m sure you’ll feel and look a lot better after some bean juice.”

"Fair enough," sighed Grell.

~xox~

Undertaker didn’t wake up with a hangover—he _never_ got hungover—but he did wake up with a faint sense of mortification that he never would have suffered in the old days. He’d practically molested Ronald Knox, the night before. He hadn’t meant it to go that far. He’d wanted to give himself more time to get used to the idea of taking a lover again, but Ronald was so charming throughout the night, he couldn’t seem to help himself. For a short time, he almost felt like his old self again. He smiled at the thought…but the smile didn’t last for long when he recalled where his old ways ended up landing him.

"Hmph…best not to go back to that," he reasoned. He started his day late, as usual. He had breakfast when most people were having lunch, and he accepted a new "client" shortly after washing up the dishes. As he went about his daily routine, he found himself wondering what his charming blond agent was up to. He made a mistake while examining his latest acquisition and he cursed when he got squirted in the face with digestive fluids as a result.

"Oopsy," said the mortician with a giggle, even as he grimaced and reached for a damp towel to wipe his face off. "Seems I’m a bit more distracted than I thought." He’d gotten some of it on his glasses and he was forced to remove them to wipe them off, as well. He checked his watch and he realized with a start that Ronald would be getting off work soon.

"My, my…where has the day gone?" he wondered. Usually time passed so slowly during the long, lonely hours of the day and sleep was his only escape from boredom. Perhaps it was because he’d gained a newfound interest in life that time seemed to move more quickly.

He again thought about the date he’d gone on the night before, and the way Ronald had lent him his glasses so that he could see the night sky clearly. A smile found it’s way back onto the mortician’s lips. He only wished that he could banish his uncertainty, and that odd feeling that they were being watched. He blamed it on being so unaccustomed to going on a romantic outing with anyone. He’d been rather self-conscious up ‘till they began their walk back home, and he’d cursed himself for feeling relief that they would soon be back in his self-induced prison.

"Gotten too used to solitude, old chap," he sighed. He wondered if he was becoming agoraphobic. He suffered conflicting feelings of going stir crazy and loathing the thought of stepping outside, and it seemed like his little outings were becoming shorter and shorter. He had to admit that the outing with Ronald had done him a bit of good.

Well, it was time to feed Fluffy again. He was getting attached to the little fellow already. It was nice to have something warm and alive to cuddle—a thing which he could never reveal to those who feared him. He’d never live it down if they saw him snuggling a bunny.

~xox~

He usually made it a rule not to call on someone right after a date, but as soon as he got off work, Ronald found himself going straight to the mortal realm to stop by the Undertaker’s shop. He passed by a candy store on his way and he stopped, staring into the window.

"But that’s for girls," he argued with himself as he eyed the box of chocolates.

He knew that the Undertaker loved sweets, though. The blond argued with himself for a good five minutes, before digging out his wallet and checking his British currency. “Man, I’m a sucker,” he sighed.

Ah well…maybe the mortician would be happy enough to get free chocolate to overlook the corniness of the gesture. What else was he supposed to get him…cologne? The man already smelled like black opium—a scent that Ronald wouldn’t have expected, given the Undertaker’s line of work. He really liked it, though. It was kind of exotic and sensual, like the ancient himself.

He walked into the shop before he could lose his nerve…two minutes before closing time. When he walked out again, he had a wrapped box of assorted chocolates and he was whistling as he walked the rest of the way to the Mortuary. He found the door locked with the “closed” sign hanging in the window, and he frowned. Maybe ‘Taker wasn’t up yet.

"Hey, ‘Taker…you in there?" He called, ringing the bell and knocking on the heavy door. "It’s Ronnie. Thought I’d drop by for a few minutes before I go home."

He didn’t get an answer. “Damn,” he muttered, glancing down at the gift.

He could take it home with him and save it for their next date, but another idea came to him and he grinned. He dug his pen out of his breast pocket and he wrote on the package. He couldn’t just leave the gift at his front door; someone was sure to come by and nab it if he did. He could get over the iron fence to his back courtyard easily enough, and he could tuck the package beneath the overhang by his back door to keep it dry in case of rain. Undertaker would have to go out there to do his gardening and feed his rabbit some time.

He leaped lightly over the gothic black fence and he strolled around to the back of the building, whistling again. His footsteps slowed and stopped when he found the Undertaker there, sitting before the rabbit hutch with his legs folded beneath him and his head bowed. The hut looked as though it had been cleaved in half by something, and there was dark blood splattering the back wall of the building.

Ronald’s eyes widened. “Mr. Fluffy?”

Surely the mortician wouldn’t have just up and decided to kill his own rabbit. Ronald didn’t see his death scythe in his hands or anywhere nearby. The autumn wind blew and stirred the ancient’s long, silver hair, but the rest of him remained as still as a statue.

"Undertaker?" called out the blond warily. He got no response, and he was suddenly stricken with the fear that the man was dead, frozen in rigor-mortis in that position.

Ronald dropped his gift and charged across the distance, calling forth his death scythe in the process and keeping an eye out for danger. “‘Taker!” he said, skidding to a stop before him. He kept one hand on the handle of his lawnmower just in case, and he knelt before the mortician.

"It was just a rabbit," murmured the Undertaker softly, finally showing some sign of life. His lips were colorless as if from shock, and his pale hands were bloody, resting in his lap. Ronald saw the remains of the animal those hands held gently in their palms and he felt queasy for a moment.

"What happened?" he asked, reaching out to brush the ancient’s thick bangs away from his eyes. The pupils were dilated and unfocused. "Undertaker…did…you do this?"

The mortician finally looked at him, and Ronald immediately regretted the question. No…he didn’t do this. He could see it in the helpless, confused grief in those eyes.

Undertaker shook his head slowly. “Came out to feed him,” he mumbled, sounding lost, “and I found him…like this. Must have happened while I was asleep, sometime before sunrise.”

Ronald swallowed and made himself look around at the evidence. His first thought was that the demon from last week had come back and done it out of spite for being driven out of town, but the way the cage was sliced in half and the state of the small body in Undertaker’s hands suggested it had been done with one clean sweep of a very sharp, deadly weapon. He didn’t sense any lingering demonic taint nearby, either.

He wanted to ask him more questions, but Undertaker spoke again and gave him pause.

"Just a rabbit, right? Simple thing, really…shouldn’t trouble me so much."

Those haunted eyes met Ronald’s again, and the mortician whispered: “And I couldn’t even protect this insignificant little creature.”

The hopelessness in that resonant voice made Ronald’s throat tighten. He couldn’t ask the man questions about it right now. What a horrible shock it must have been for him. Ronald reached out to brush the older reaper’s hair back over his shoulders before the tips could get more bloodied than they already were.

"Let’s get you inside," he suggested. "I’ll…take care of the rabbit, okay? I’ll wrap him up for you."

Undertaker nodded slowly, as if he were sleep-walking. He placed the animal’s remains gently in the ruins of the hutch and he stood up. “Sorry, little fellow,” he whispered, dropping his stained hands to his sides so that the long sleeves of his robe dangled over them, hiding them from view.

Ronald put an arm around his waist and he banished his scythe so that he could guide him to the door. He opened it for him and he ushered him inside, then to the kitchen sink. He didn’t know shit about taking care of someone in a state of shock—if that was what this was. All he knew was that he had to get the blood off his hands and out of his hair…Undertaker didn’t need that reminder.

"Over to the sink," he urged. "Let’s get ya cleaned up, okay? I’ll make you some tea and you can lie down while I take care of things. Um…Dispatch should probably investigate this, you know."

Undertaker nodded mutely. He allowed Ronald to guide him to the sink and wash his hands, offering no resistance. It was kind of frightening for Ronald to see this reaper in such a state. He got the feeling that it wasn’t just the loss of his bunny, but how it was done that seemed to haunt him so. The blond rolled Undertaker’s sleeves up and he scrubbed his hands for him, his gaze flicking between his task and the mortician’s pained face. He patted his hands dry with the towel when he finished, and that protective feeling he’d experienced when he woke up at the hospital and learned his colleagues were going after the Undertaker welled up again.

"Okay," said Ronald in an uncommonly gentle voice, "into the bedroom."

He knew where it was already, having inspected the mortician’s shop and home before. He took his hand and guided him to the big master bedroom to the right of the back door, and he urged him over to the bed.

"Here, let me get these boots off of you," he offered. "And this robe…it uh…needs washing." The voluminous garment was wet with blood in places—particularly the long sleeves and hem.

Again, Undertaker merely nodded mutely and allowed Ronald to remove the scarf and unbutton the robes. The blond slipped the garment off and bundled it up, before gently steering his companion to the big, black canopied bed and having him sit down on it. Under different circumstances, he might have teased him over the pink embroidery on the black comforter and pillows, but even Ronald had the sense to pick his moments. He knelt down before the ancient and he began to undo the buckles lining his thigh-high boots.

_~This isn’t how I imagined doing this the first time. I totally pictured this moment differently in my head, maybe with some candles burning and some music playing in the background. Okay, focus, Ronnie. The guy’s in shock and there’s more to this than some asshole killing some random person’s pet rabbit for shits and giggles. Gotta find out what’s going on, here.~_

He put his mind to the task at hand, shoving wistful romantic thoughts firmly to the back of his mind. Undertaker needed comfort right now, not some guy coming onto him. He got the boots off and he tucked them just underneath the bed so that the ancient could easily find them if he needed to get them on. He took a brief moment to admire the shape of his pale feet—of all things—and he got back up and urged him to lie down. Undertaker did so, half curling up on his side and pillowing his cheek on folded hands.

Ronald stroked his bangs out of his eyes soothingly and he bent over him to kiss him on the cheek. “We’ll find out who did this, ‘Taker. Just leave it to me.”

The haunted, beautiful eyes flicked to him, and Ronald’s heart clenched with sympathy. “We will,” he reiterated. “Promise.”

Undertaker’s colorless lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. Ronald kissed them on impulse and stroked his hair once more, before leaving the room to take care of business. He didn’t immediately wrap up the unfortunate animal’s carcass as promised. In his eyes, this was a potential crime scene that Shinigami authorities might have to deal with. He had the awful feeling that the culprit was in fact a reaper, given how cleanly the hutch had been sliced in half. He called his supervisor to report the situation and ask his advice.

~xox~

Grell was just leaving his office after working late, when William stopped him in the hallway. “Come with me, Grell Sutcliff.”

The redhead’s heart hammered in his chest, and he wished he hadn’t been so quick to change out of his librarian outfit and into his Dispatch uniform. “Something wrong, Will?”

The brunet inclined his head gracefully. “Indeed. We are going to investigate an incident at the Undertaker’s residency.”

Grell’s brows furrowed. “Did the old loon slip his leash again? I _know_ he went out that day, Will.” He grinned, suddenly eager. “Maybe this time we can catch him in the act.”

"This has nothing to do with his house arrest," explained William. "Someone trespassed on his property in the night and slaughtered his pet rabbit. Ronald is there on the scene now and he believes the culprit was a reaper."

The supervisor eyed him with faint suspicion. “I don’t suppose you would know anything about that?”

Grell placed a hand over his chest, his expression sincerely surprised. “Me? Why would I kill that lunatic’s rabbit? He probably did it himself! And how is this worthy of investigation, Will? It’s a rodent!”

"Because the suspected weapon used to do so is a death scythe," answered the brunet with carefully controlled patience, "in which case it can be presumed that one of our kind has a grudge and is trying to rattle him. It’s highly possible that his collar malfunction last week was deliberately conducted by someone with an agenda…perhaps to jeopardize his probation and land him in a Shinigami prison. Killing his pet may be another act to provoke him into reverting his behavior, do you understand?"

Grell sighed. “Well, I assure you that it isn’t me. Handsome or not, that bounder is not worth the trouble I would get into for the effort. I would like to see him slip and get his just desserts, true, but not at my own expense.”

William studied him with unreadable eyes for a moment, before nodding. “I believe you. Come; we need to determine when it was done and whether Knox is correct about the origin of the weapon used for the deed.”

Grell grumbled under his breath, but he knew he’d never convince William not to waste his effort on investigating something as trivial as a rabbit. Undertaker was still his favorite legendary reaper, despite his recent transgressions.

As William opened up the portal that would take them to the shop, it occurred to Grell to wonder why in the hell Ronald was there in the first place.

~xox~

Ronald opened the door for them and let them in as soon as they arrived. “Hey boss, hey Senpai. Thanks for coming.” He locked the door behind them and took a deep breath. “It’s out back. Follow me.”

"And where is the Undertaker?" questioned William, looking around. He frowned slightly and ran a gloved finger over the windowsill. It was pristine. The entire shop looked as though it had been given a thorough cleaning, in fact. The wooden furnishings were polished, the cobwebs were gone and the floor even had a slight shine to it that suggested the Undertaker had scrubbed it. He couldn’t recall ever having seen the mortuary this spotless.

"He’s in the bedroom, lying down," answered Ronald. "I made him some tea but he hasn’t touched it. Come on, I promised him I’d wrap up the body. I don’t want to leave it out there for the birds and bugs to get at it. I put a barrier around it to prevent that but I’m not so good at this preservation stuff yet."

"Very well," agreed William. "Show us to it."

~xox~

Moments later, the three Dispatch agents were looking down at the mess and even Grell found it in his heart to feel some disquiet over it. The attack had been brutal, and he could sense an aura of anger lingering in the air—but whether that came from the culprit or the Undertaker was a mystery.

"At least it was quick," reasoned the redhead, kneeling down before the remains of the animal. "It was probably dead before it even felt anything."

"I don’t think that’s much comfort to the Undertaker," Ronald sighed. "But tell me I’m wrong. If this wasn’t done by a death scythe, I’ll scrub toilets for a month."

William smirked slightly, and he ran his hand over the clean slice in the wood. “Pity I cannot deny your observation just to see you doing that, Knox, but I’m afraid you are correct. A death scythe did indeed cause this. The aura still lingers.”

He straightened back up and adjusted his glasses with his scythe, looking back toward the door leading into the building. “Frankly, I’m surprised that the Undertaker wasn’t able to detect it himself.”

"He was distracted," excused Ronald, "in shock, too. I’ve never seen him look like that before." He cast a worried look toward the building as well.

"Over a _rabbit_?” scoffed Grell.

"It was his pet," Ronald said with a frown. "You don’t have to be nasty about it, Senpai. I’d be shocked too if I went outside to feed my pet and found it cut in half!"

"All right, that’s quite enough," William said, holding up a hand to forestall any further bickering. "There is clearly more to this than random cruelty to an animal. Not many would dare such a transgression against the Undertaker, even without knowing who and what he truly is. I cannot even imagine any of our kind doing so, but the evidence before us contradicts that."

"Maybe it was a rabid fan," suggested Grell thoughtfully. "Someone obsessed enough with him to cleave his beloved pet just to get his attention."

William raised a brow. “Was that a dig at me, Sutcliff?”

Grell blinked, realizing his mistake. Of course…there were few who held the Undertaker in such high esteem as William. “No, Will! I wasn’t accusing you, I was just putting forth a theory! You’re far too cold and level-headed to allow your worship of this man to drive you to such levels of fanaticism.”

He gave him a subtly resentful look and put his hands on his hips. “But not all reapers are made of stone, you know. Some of us are passionate. Some of us have fire in our veins that can’t be quenched with—”

"Yes, yes," interrupted the brunet dismissively. "Some of you are out of control. I am quite aware of that."

Grell huffed and tapped his foot, brushing his long, crimson tresses over his shoulders in a feminine gesture. “Well don’t you think that opens up the possibility I mentioned before?”

William looked at the mess thoughtfully, a slight frown on his lips. “I suppose it could be an obsessed fan…or an old enemy.”

Ron snorted. “Who’d want to make an enemy of the Undertaker, though?”

William went quiet again, considering. “We only know a small portion of his history. Even having studied the man myself from the very first day I joined Dispatch, I know there is a lot of his past that was never documented. He had rivals in his day…reapers who envied him for his skills and his charisma. To attempt to pick out a single one without evidence would amount to hearsay. There is a trail, though it is faint. The perpetrator covered his or her tracks well.”

He looked around and nodded decisively. “I will follow it and report in, should I find anything. Sutcliff, write out a report of what we’ve discovered so far and remain here, in case the perpetrator has a mind to return. Knox, clean up the mess and see to the Undertaker.”

"Uh, I just want to point out that anyone with the balls to do this might be a tough cookie to crumble," Ronald advised. "Ya might want to think about calling in some backup if you run into them, Spears-Senpai."

"My purpose is to locate the suspect," assured William, "not to engage them alone. Should I find our quarry, I will indeed contact you both and Dispatch for assistance. In the meantime, take care of things here."

They both nodded, and William sprinted away, following a trail that only he had managed to pick up. Grell sighed when he was gone. “Such a professional. As much as the man can infuriate me, I do get such a thrill out of seeing him work.”

"Let’s just focus on getting this done, Senpai," suggested Ronald dryly. "I want to get it over with and go back in to check on the Undertaker."

Grell gave him a suspicious look as Ronald began to gather the remains of the animal to wrap it up in the burlap he’d gotten from somewhere inside. “Just what _were_ you doing here, Ronnie? I find it odd that you would decide to come by this dreary mortuary after work, when you could be out on a date or going to a party.”

The blond didn’t answer right away. He was looking at the rabbit with a regretful expression on his handsome, boyish face. “He pulled him out of a hat for me,” he murmured.

"Eh?" Grell frowned and leaned over him. "What was that you said?"

Ronald twisted in his squatting position, looking up at the redhead. “A hat trick. I didn’t really believe he could do it, but he pulled it off. Poor Mr. Fluffy.”

"Just what are you babbling about?" demanded Grell in confusion. "Why would the Undertaker be doing a hat trick for you?"

Ronald sighed. “We’ve been dating, Senpai. I was going to wait to tell you ‘cause I—”

"Wait, wait," interrupted Grell, making the "time out" signal with his hands. "Did…did my ears just deceive me? Did you just tell me that you and the Undertaker have been _dating_?”

Ronald nodded. “Yeah. It started after the inspection a couple of weeks ago. I guess I was just curious at first and I convinced him to go on a few dates with me.”

Grell ogled him. “But…but he’s hardly your type! He is at _least_ a thousand years too old for you, darling! What on earth made you want to date such a dreary old creep?”

”’ _Dreary old creep’_?” repeated Ronald in a huff, getting to his feet. “Hey, _you’re_ the one that nearly threw himself at him the minute we saw his face for the first time! And anyway, there’s another side to him. You’ve only ever seen what’s on the surface, but he’s got a lot more going on than the ‘creepy old mortician’, you know!”

Grell made an annoyed sound in his throat. “All right, he’s got the face of an angel beneath that mass of hair—I’ll give you that—but he raised the dead! And he threw me through glass! Not to mention he’s old enough to be your ancestor!”

"Pfft, please." Ronald crossed his arms over his chest. "You’re the last person that can preach about sticking to the rules of life and death, Senpai. Yeah, he hurt your face but let’s be honest—we attacked him first. He retaliated."

"That’s still no excuse to hurt a maiden’s face," insisted Grell with a wag of his finger. "And he’s still _far_ to old for you, Ronnie.”

"How do ya figure?" Demanded the blond. "Shinigami only age to a certain point. It’s not like I’m in diapers or anything. A hundred years from now I won’t have aged much at all. You’re what, eighty? A hundred?"

"Never ask a lady her age," admonished Grell. "And I’m not speaking of physical age anyways. You’re still green, darling. You haven’t lived as a reaper long enough to know what you want—"

"I know I want him," said the blond without hesitation. "More than I’ve ever wanted anyone, and I’ve been around the block. Come on, Senpai…you of all reapers ought to understand where I’m coming from. Haven’t I supported you with Spears-Senpai? Did I try to convince ya to just give up on it? No…I’ve encouraged you and helped you, because I know how much you want him and I think you deserve to be happy. Can’t you do the same thing for me?"

"I’ve known Will for…well, let’s just say since before you were made into a reaper," Grell reminded him. "You’ve only known the Undertaker for a short while, and he’s a criminal."

"Kind of like you?" Ronald smirked. "Keep pushing that angle, Senpai. I’ll call you on it every time."

Grell sighed. He reached out to brush Ronald’s bangs aside when the breeze blew them over one eye. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt, darling. I can understand and appreciate that he’s different and exciting to you, but even on my worst days, I was never so unhinged as he is.”

"You don’t know him," insisted the younger reaper. "You haven’t seen the side of him that I have."

"Give me an example," demanded Grell. "What is there beneath that surface of cackling lunacy that you find so irresistible?"

"Aside from the fact that he’s drop-dead gorgeous? Well, he’s fun," began Ronald with a little smile. "And he’s really smart. He’s got class believe it or not, and he can be really gentle and…and compassionate. You know I hate doctors and needles, but I felt safe with him the whole time he was looking after me, after that stupid demon sucker-punched me in the ally. He’s shy too. It’s really cute."

Grell raised a brow. “Shy? Ronald Bradley Knox, are you trying to tell me that the Undertaker—legendary death god, cackling lunatic and raiser of zombies—is…shy? How can I believe your words? It sounds ridiculous.”

"As ridiculous as him having a pet bunny?" challenged Ron. "Like I said; you haven’t seen the side he keeps hidden from the world. I have. Yes, he’s shy. He blushes when I kiss him but once I get him warmed up…damn, can he ever kiss."

His eyes unfocused and his expression became faintly dreamy. All too familiar with that look—having worn it many times himself when thinking of men he adored—Grell bit his lip. “Please tell me you have not slept with him,” he begged.

Ronald snapped out of it and shook his head. “Not yet. I’m working on that part, though.” he winked at Grell. “Look, you’re just gonna have to believe me and trust that I’m old enough to know what I want. I know I’ve got some growing to do, but don’t you think being with someone older and more experienced might help balance me out?”

"I wouldn’t count on a man like the Undertaker balancing _himself_ out,” retorted Grell dryly, “much less anyone else…but I must admit that I’ve never seen you so enamored with anyone, before. Is that why you were so depressed that day, before the demon attacked you?”

Ronald nodded. “Yeah. He tried to blow me off but then I decided to push it again and he caved.”

Grell chuckled. “Only you could accomplish such a feat, I imagine.” He sighed and tilted his head, stroking the young man’s cheek fondly. “You really desire him that much, do you?”

The blond nodded again. “Hell yeah.”

Grell dropped his hand. “Then I suppose I shall have to support you. Just guard your heart, Ronald. I can tell you from personal experience that such passion for a man can lead to hurt.”

"I’ll try to be careful," promised Ronald.

Grell smirked at him. “He really is a sexy beast, isn’t he? That is, when he isn’t behaving as a snickering loon and throwing ladies through sky-domes.”

"You’re never going to let that go, are you?"

"It was my _face_ , Ronnie. For your sake I will refrain from harassing him about it, but if he hurts you, my charity will vanish.”

The blond shrugged. “Fair enough. Now let’s get this over with. I want to find the mother-fucker that did this.”

Grell’s eyes widened. “Ronnie! Such language!”

"Well I’m mad," excused Ronald. "You should have seen ‘Taker’s face. I want to hurt whoever did this."

Grell sighed. “Well aren’t _you_ the little knight in shining armor. It surely must be love…or at least a greater than average sense of lust.”

"He came to my rescue when I needed it," excused Ronald. "So now I’m going to come to his."

"And you really think the Undertaker requires rescuing?" Grell raised a brow dubiously.

Ronald sighed and looked back toward the building. “I know he shouldn’t be alone right now…that’s for damned sure.”

He got back to work, and Grell’s brows shot up again at how quickly and efficiently he did his task. It seemed all it really took to get Ronald motivated was concern for a love interest. Maybe William should hold the mortician hostage in the future, if he wanted the blond to stop slacking off at work. Snorting with amusement at the thought, Grell summoned his binder and pen, and he began to write his report.

~xox~

He lay there in a numb daze, unable to banish the mental image of his poor bunny lying in two halves. Something similar had happened in the past, though the recipient had been human. He shuddered and closed his eyes, his fingers tightening reflexively on thick blankets he laid upon.

“‘Taker?”

Undertaker opened his eyes again and looked up as Ronald’s familiar blur came walking in. His youthful, attractive features came into better focus as he approached the bed to gaze down at the ancient with concern. The mortician flinched involuntarily when the boy reached down to stroke his bangs out of his eyes.

"How are ya feeling?" pressed Ronald. "Any better?"

Undertaker lowered his gaze. How could he answer that question? How could he explain why the death of a rabbit he’d only owned for a few days affected him so? He dredged up a smile for him and he attempted to lock away the trauma of past memories.

"It was just a nasty shock, is all," he murmured. "Sorry if I gave you a fright, love."

Ronald sat down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t want to sound insensitive, but I can’t see you reacting that way just over a pet. Sure he was cute, but you just got him. Is there something else going on that we should know about? Maybe some enemy you’ve got? Spears-Senpai confirmed it was a reaper attack.”

The smile faded from Undertaker’s pale lips, and he swallowed. “I know.”

"You sensed it, then?"

"I knew as soon as I saw it," confirmed the ancient, "but it was…I don’t know what came over me."

He tried to force another smile, and he sat up slowly. The world felt surreal to him, as if he were caught in a dream—or a nightmare. “You know I’m not all there on my best days, Ronnie. I didn’t expect it to hit me that hard. It was probably some young hoodlum of a reaper out to make a name for himself with his friends by killing off ol’ Undertaker’s new pet.”

Ronald grimaced. “Hey, I’m part of the new generation and none of my academy mates would ever pull a stunt like that.”

The Undertaker looked at him sidelong through the part in his bangs. “How can you be so certain of that, chap? Old I may be, but I still have some vague recollection of the pranks I used to pull when I was around your age. Some younguns take it too far in their desire to impress their peers. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it.”

Ronald scratched his head and shifted uncomfortably. “Okay, so some of us have done some pretty mean, douchebag things to each other and older reapers too, but I can’t believe any of the guys I trained with would do something that…that…”

"Cold?" suggested Undertaker helpfully. "Why not? After all, training to be a soul collector involves learning to be dispassionate…to stop feeling sorrow, mercy or sympathy for your marks. You have to be able to turn on your friends or coworkers if the job requires it, too."

He sighed and bowed his head, letting his hair fall forward to cover his eyes again. “You have to learn not to care. Being a Dispatch agent hardens most reapers, lad. We are death incarnate, not guardian angels.”

"Bullshit."

Undertaker frowned and peeked at him through his bangs. “Eh?”

"I’m not buying that argument." Ronald cupped his chin and brushed his bangs out of his eyes. "Okay, so I’ve learned to stop sympathizing with mortals when they die. I have to, if I don’t want to go crazy on the job. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about my friends or coworkers, and it doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop caring. They care about me too and yeah, if I break the laws they’ll have to hunt me down and vice-versa. We all know how the game is played but in the end, most of us still care. Sutcliff-Senpai killed that woman he was working with as Jack the Ripper, but he swears up and down he loved her and still does."

"And did he explain to you why he bothered killing her at all?"

Ronald shrugged. “She’d have killed herself eventually. She was pretty messed up. To him it was a mercy killing when he saw her break. Kind of like putting an animal down so it won’t suffer. Uh…forget I said that.”

Undertaker smirked. “Too late, darlin’. I know what you meant, though.”

"My point is, being a reaper doesn’t have to mean being a murderer. Some lose it and go that way like Grell, and some end up raising an army of zombies like you…" Undertaker chuckled a bit at that, and Ronald smiled and continued. "…but I don’t believe for a minute we have to be assholes to get the job done. The reaper that did this is obviously a sadistic piece of crap, and we’ll find him and deal with him, okay?"

"You have agents on it already?" Undertaker was faintly surprised that Dispatch would bother. What had been done to him was probably little more than a misdemeanor by Shinigami laws…barely more than a case of vandalism.

"Yeah, because this could be something bigger than someone trying to make a name for themselves on a dare, or some obsessed stalker trying to get your attention. Spears-Senpai thinks someone might be trying to mess with your head to get you to snap again. Do me a favor and don’t do that, okay?"

"I’ll try to avoid it," promised the mortician softly, another smirk adorning his lips. He thought back on the last time a thing like this happened, and he took a slow breath. "Ronnie, much as I’ve enjoyed spending time with you, I think I’ll have to decline that third date. It’s best you don’t get involved with—"

Ronald cupped the back of his head and kissed him firmly, cutting off his words. The kiss went on for a few moments before he broke it and stared into his eyes. “No way. I’m not going anywhere and we made a deal. You’ve gotta give me at least one more date and _then_ you can try to convince me you don’t want me.”

"That isn’t what I said," corrected the ancient. "What I want has nothing to do with what’s better for you, m’dear."

"I really wish you old folks would stop trying to decide what’s best for me," said the blond with a wink. "How about you let _me_ do that, okay?”

Undertaker snorted and grinned, shaking his head. “You’re mad to keep pursuing me, you know.”

"Hah. You’re one to talk about madness."

Undertaker chuckled under his breath. “Indeed.”

~xox~

-To be continued


	8. Chapter 8

The Dispatch agents did a meticulous job of cleaning up the mess. Ronald had to leave with Grell to report on the incident, and when Undertaker finally gathered the will to go outside and look, he found barely a trace of evidence that Fluffy had been there at all. Aside from a few wood chips left over from the hutch, it was utterly gone. The blood had been cleaned up, and Ronald had been kind enough to wrap the remains of the rabbit up thoroughly and leave it in the cold box for Undertaker to deal with as he saw fit.

The mortician considered giving the little fellow a burial, but he found it too sad to do so just yet—so he left the remains in the cold box and he tried to take his mind off the trauma of finding him like that. It seemed impossible that this was done for the same reasons as the last time something similar happened to him. The responsible party was never seen or heard from again after the event, no matter how Undertaker had tried to track him down.

…But it had happened after his date with the charismatic, handsome young Dispatch agent.

Undertaker sighed as he walked back into his home and listlessly wandered about. He spotted a heart-shaped lacy box on his kitchen table for the first time and he went over to it, curious. There was a small note slipped into the purple ribbon holding the box closed and he picked it up and squinted at it.

_"I know you like sweets, so I thought I’d drop these off for ya._

_-Ronald Knox.”_

The ancient bowed his head and ran his fingers over the velvet ribbon tenderly. “Thoughtful, persistent lad,” he whispered. He should have held his ground and ended things with him. This time it was a rabbit. The next it could be Ronald. True, the boy was no mortal, nor was he a helpless bunny; but if Undertaker’s darkest fears proved true…

The bell over the front door of his shop rang, distracting the mortician from his troubled thoughts. He hadn’t even thought to lock his shop back up after the agents finished their work and left. He sensed a reaper aura and he immediately summoned his death scythe, almost looking forward to finding the nightmare from his past waiting for him. Instead, he found William T. Spears waiting politely in the coffin display room.

"Hullo chap," greeted the mortician, hastily banishing his scythe before stepping out from behind the curtain separating his shop from his personal space. He forced a grin as he approached him, oddly relieved to see him apparently whole and unhurt. "Find anything useful?"

William shook his head. “Regrettably not, Master Undertaker. The trail went cold after following it for several city blocks. Whomever is responsible for this transgression seems to be adept at masking his presence and covering his tracks. Dispatch will continue the investigation, however, and you will be informed if anything turns up.”

"I see." The mortician walked over to his desk and sat down behind it. "Well, I’ve got to give you fellows props for effort. My thanks."

William considered him quietly for a moment. “Can you think of any enemies within our ranks that might have done this, sir?”

"None that are still alive," answered the Undertaker, "at least as far as I know. I said as much to Ronnie."

"Yes, but I had to be sure you weren’t doing so to protect him," William said candidly. "You seem quite fond of him."

"Hmph…fair enough." There was no point in evading the truth of that observation.

William checked his pocket watch. “Well if there is nothing more I can do for you, I’d best return to the office and oversee these reports.”

"Actually, there _might_ be something else you can do for me, Mr. Spears.”

The brunet paused in the act of turning toward the door. “Such as?”

"You have access to the greater vaults in the library, don’t you?"

William nodded. “I do.”

"Then would you be so kind as to search for the records of a Shinigami named Victor Tally when you have the chance?"

The supervisor’s brow arched slightly; the only visible change in his expression. “Is there anything in particular that I should be searching for in these records, should I locate them?”

"Just confirmation that he’s dead."

There was a spark of interest in William’s eyes, but he was such a closed fellow that not even Undertaker could guess why. The Dispatch supervisor was too well-mannered to press him for answers as to why he wanted this information, though as an investigator on the scene he had every right to. Spears gave a cordial bow and straightened his glasses. “Of course, sir. Try to have a pleasant evening.”

~xox~

As he traversed into the Shinigami realm once more, William couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excited possibilities. It was crass of him, but he was a student of history and he thought perhaps this might lead him to more clues as to why the reaper mentioned by Undertaker had been practically erased from all the texts he’d read on the first generation. What had the man been to the Undertaker? A friend turned to an enemy? A rival from the start? He’d been tempted many times to check the greater soul vaults, curious as to whether he’d truly gone missing or if the organization had his cinematic records and covered it up. He was not one to bend or break the rules though, unless he had very good reason.

Now he had an excuse to access those vaults, and he needn’t fear getting a reprimand for doing so.

~xox~

Undertaker busied himself with finishing up his latest subject, and it was only two hours ‘till dawn by the time he was done. He could not sleep, however. Every noise put him on guard and foiled his attempts to doze off. He was anxious…ready for a fight. He’d worked some old cantrips around the perimeter of his property once the Dispatch agents were gone and he could think clearly enough. Hopefully they would prevent anyone else sneaking onto his lot without his knowing it—even if he was asleep.

But he kept picturing in his mind’s eye the event that took Fluffy from him, and he kept wishing that he could have roused from sleep in time to detect the intruder and intervene. When he finally drifted off to sleep, his mind put the scene together in his dreams and he again saw that confident, charming smile, the squared jaw, the flowing brown hair and the aristocratic features of the reaper he’d once committed to. He could so vividly see the smile turning into a cruel twist, the green-gold eyes narrowing with anger brought about by imagined betrayal.

Undertaker tossed and turned in his coffin, making it rock and sway in his nocturnal struggles with his mind. “N-no,” he moaned as the dark, moonlit feature of his nightmare stepped up before the rabbit hutch, the wicked gleam of his death scythe reflecting the starlight. “Not again…”

~xox~

Ronald yawned and shifted a bit, checking his watch. It would be sunrise soon, and he’d have to clock in for work. Dispatch hadn’t decided yet whether to have agents watch the Undertaker’s shop for intruders, so he took it upon himself to do it after he’d finished his work for the night. Undertaker told him he’d be setting up wards and he assured him he would be fine, but Ronald kept thinking about the desolate look in his eyes and the way he’d been so uncharacteristically despondent. He didn’t want Undertaker to revert to his criminal ways, but he sure didn’t like seeing such a powerful reaper so vulnerable.

"Shit…I really _am_ falling for the guy,” he sighed, covering another yawn.

It was easy to try and excuse his disconcertion on respect for Undertaker’s past reputation; Ronald did after all hold a certain measure of respect for his elders, even if he was considered a “problem child” at times. He couldn’t ignore the protective feelings he had though, and it wasn’t because he was trying to score points to get down the mortician’s pants. He honestly, truly wanted to defend him from whoever was messing with him.

And that was why he was sitting here, uncomfortably chilled with a sore bum, watching the ancient’s property from atop a neighboring rooftop. If anyone came lurking around Undertaker’s property, Ronald would see it and act.

"I wonder how he’s doing," sighed the blond. He hadn’t spoken with him since he left to report in for the night, figuring he wouldn’t do much good pestering him every hour. He snorted. "So now I’m stalking him instead. Yeah, that’s a lot better."

But he wasn’t stalking _him_. He was stalking his stalker…or whoever did his rabbit in. It could be just a one-time thing like Undertaker said, but Ronald couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to it than some greenie trying to make a name for himself with his buddies. He sat and watched, nodding off several times but determined to stay until the sun rose and it was time to go to work.

~xox~

Undertaker woke up early, unable to sleep through his normal hours no matter how much he tried. With a sigh of regret, he promised himself a nap later on when he wound down and he climbed out of his coffin to bathe and change for the day. Though he had no appetite, he made himself eat a snack and he contemplated whether he should ring Dispatch later on or wait for Spears to get back in touch with him.

He snorted as he finished his shortbread treat, loathing the pathetic thing he’d become. He’d never been so uncertain and paranoid…not as Khronos, and not as the Undertaker. Now it seemed he couldn’t accomplish anything without his former organization holding his hand. The walls seemed too narrow…the ceiling too low. He got up decisively and he walked out back to his courtyard, needing to see the sky even if it was too bright out for his taste. Fortunately he could smell rain and ozone in the air as soon as he unlocked and opened his back door, and the sun was hidden behind a gathering cloud clover.

Undertaker stepped out and he closed his eyes, breathing in the autumn London air. The chill in the air was growing more pronounced each morning. Soon he’d probably need to construct an indoor hutch to keep Fluffy in at night…perhaps by the window in his bedroom.

"Oh," he muttered to himself, remembering Fluffy wasn’t there any longer. For that brief moment when absent thought took over, he’d forgotten. He looked over to where the hutch once was and he heaved another sigh. Perhaps he’d been better off with his dollies. Proud of them he’d been, but he’d never suffered emotional attachment to them. They were experiments; things he’d created out of a curious need to find out what might happen if he could make the cinematic records go on after they ended.

The ancient reaper took his hat off and combed his bangs out of his eyes, searching the skyline with blurred vision to try and deduce when the storm front would move in and cleanse London with tears from the heavens. He noticed something odd on the rooftop of the building behind his and he squinted, his nose scrunching up and his lip upper lip curling with confusion.

"What in bollocks is that…a body?"

All that he could make out from this distance was a vaguely human shaped blob sprawled over the angled roof. Even as he watched, it started to slide and he wondered if it was some resident or chimney sweep that had tripped and knocked himself unconscious. Undertaker debated over whether he should do anything, or just leave it be. He was no hero and the last thing he needed to do right now was get involved in mortal affairs. The body slid lower, until it looked like its arm was dangling over the roof.

"Bothersome mortals," grumbled the mortician, and he touched the tracking collar around his throat. This wasn’t an allotted day for him to leave the premises, but he was curious. What if this mortal had seen the reaper that attacked his rabbit, and that led to his demise? Even if he was dead, his cinematic records might still be intact for viewing.

Decision made, Undertaker took off, keeping an eye out for any possible danger. He leapt nimbly up onto the roof and landed lightly beside the body…only to recognize it immediately once he got close enough.

"Oh no," he uttered, shaking his head. "Not this…"

But there were no signs of a cut of any sort. The unconscious blond snored softly, and the Undertaker nearly collapsed with unexpected relief. He gathered Ronald into his arms, balancing carefully to keep them both from falling off of the roof.

"Ronald," he said, shaking the young man lightly. "Ronnie."

The agent stirred, only to curl up against him and hug him. “‘M sleeping,” he mumbled, pressing his face against Undertaker’s chest.

The mortician couldn’t decide whether to throttle him or hug him closer. “Idiot child…what were you…oh, never mind. You’re pooped.”

He grunted softly as he lifted him, and he couldn’t help but smirk as Ronald’s arms tightened around his neck instinctively. On a whim, he nuzzled the boy’s yellow-gold hair as he gathered his strength to hop down with him. He landed with slightly more noise than usual due to his added burden of weight, his boots tapping against the cobbles of the street below briefly before he took another leap and cleared the fence surrounding the back of his property. He had to juggle Ronnie in his arms a bit to turn the knob on the back door and he carried him inside.

"Mmuh…um…’Taker?" murmured Ronald in confusion as he was brought into the bedroom and eased down onto the mortician’s bed.

Undertaker plucked at his shoelaces to loosen them and he nodded, glancing at the sleepy agent as he blinked his eyes open. “Care to tell a chap what you were doing passed out on the rooftop of the building behind mine?”

Ronald yawned and rubbed his bloodshot eyes beneath his glasses. “Guarding you,” he said tiredly. “Makin’ sure the guy wouldn’t try to come back for seconds.”

"Ronald," sighed Undertaker, wiggling one shoe off, then the second.

"I know ya can handle yourself," said the blond, waking up a bit more. "I’m not tryin’ to make you feel like a damsel in distress, but…I guess I was worried."

"Well, you nearly took a head-dive off the roof," chuckled the mortician. "It’s a good thing my curiosity got the better of me when I saw you up there. I thought you were a dead mortal."

"Oh." Ronald flushed a little and gave him a sleepy grin. "Sorry. I guess I nodded off."

He looked at his watch and his reddened eyes went wide. “Holy shit, I’m late for work!”

Almost as if on cue, his phone began to ring. He dug it out of his pocket with a look of dread. “Knox here. Yessir, I know. Sorry, Spears-Senpai. I’m with the Undertaker. Huh? No, I’m looking right at him! He’s not out of bounds, so don’t send anyone. Um, well, I…I kind of—”

Undertaker snatched the phone out of the blond’s hand and he swatted at him when Ronald tried to take it back. “Hi hi, Mr. Spears. Undertaker, here. Mr. Knox is resting and no, It’s not what you think. I _did_ go out of bounds briefly this morning, because I found him passed out on the rooftop of the building behind mine.”

He ignored Ronald’s horrified look and “cut” gestures. “That’s right, chap. Seems he was worried about yours truly and he took it upon himself to watch over my property all night, in case the rabbit killer returned. Mm-hmm. Well, he’s exhausted, so I’m afraid he won’t be coming into work today. Give him a ‘sicky’ so he can sleep it off.”

"I am afraid Knox has already recently had a sick day," argued William. "As you know, there are only so many each agent can take per year before there are penalties."

The mortician’s expression darkened. “Has he gone over his allotted sick days?”

"Well, no…"

"Then mark another one down for him." Undertaker shrugged. "You could technically even count the hours he put in last night as overtime, if you care to. He’s not much good to you right now. Poor lad’s fighting to stay awake as we speak, and as his superior, it’s your responsibility to keep your agents in top form, yeah?"

"I…yes. Very well. I shall mark it on his time card. Tell him that he’d better not repeat this tonight and be in the office on time tomorrow."

Undertaker nodded. “Will do. Toodles!”

He ended the call and handed it back to Ronald. “There. Fixed it for you.”

Ronald sighed and fell back against the pillows. “Man, I’m gonna be in so much trouble.”

Undertaker smiled. “Don’t be so sure, Ronnie.”

"But I _am_ ,” insisted the blond. “You don’t know what the boss is like! He’s ruthless. I’ll probably get stuck with paperwork overtime tomorrow for this.”

"Better that than dead," advised the ancient. "A reaper in your condition has no business gathering cinematic records. You ought to know that by now. They’ll drag you down with them and get muddled with yours if you aren’t alert enough to do your job, and then you’ll wind up with a pretty coffin of your own or stuck in a Shinigami mental ward for the rest of your life."

He softened his tone and he stroked Ronal’s feathered hair fondly. “I’d rather not see either of those things happen to you, my dear. You just rest up here today, for as long as you need. I’ll close the door so you don’t get disturbed by me puttering about.”

Ronald sighed and relaxed. “Ya didn’t have to do this for me.” His eyes began to drift shut, the lids seemingly too heavy for him to keep open.

Undertaker chuckled. “Actually, I did. Have to take care of my knight in shining…er…suit.”

He bent over to plant a soft kiss on the blond’s forehead. “Rest now.”

Ronald reached out for him as he got up, grabbing a handful of his flowing robes. “Would you…lay down with me? Just for a little while, ‘till I fall asleep. I can tell you’re tired, too.”

Undertaker hesitated, looking down at him. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept for any significant length of time in his own bed; much less in the arms of someone else. Finally, he nodded. “All right. I’m finished with my current client anyhow.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and he unbuckled his boots to remove them.

"I’da done that," yawned Ronald, watching sleepily as the older reaper tugged the thigh-high footwear off and set the pair next to his oxfords.

Undertaker unbuttoned and shrugged out of his robes, removing his sash in the process. “I’m sure you would have, Ronnie. Just let me take care of _you_ , now.”

The boy scooted back with a happy little grin to give him room, and Undertaker couldn’t help but smile back as he situated himself beside him and stretched out. He pillowed his head on one arm and he gave a little start when Ronald cuddled up to him and threw one arm and one leg around him. He hesitantly stroked Ronald’s hair as the blond nestled against his chest.

"Mm," remarked the agent softly. "Feels nice. I kind of like those nails of yours."

The ancient obligingly combed said nails through Ronald’s hair, swallowing at the feel of his smaller frame pressed so intimately against him. It evoked a sense of tenderness in him, and he nuzzled the crown of his head and breathed in his scent.

"How do ya…fit those surgery gloves on with those…mmm…nails?" sighed Ronald.

Amused at how distracted the young man was by his petting, the mortician shrugged. “They’re retractable. I shorten them when I put the gloves on.”

Ronald pulled his head back to look at him with a dubious frown.

"Don’t believe me?" guessed Undertaker with a smile. "Here, look."

He held up the hand he’d been stroking Ronald’s hair with and he demonstrated, retracting the long, black nails until they were average in length. “Makes delicate jobs a bit easier.”

"Wow, that’s weird." Ronald winced. "I mean cool."

Undertaker chuckled. “You can say ‘weird’, love. It’s nothing I’ve not heard before, concerning myself.”

"But I don’t think your weird," yawned the agent. "Well, not as weird as I used to think. Different, yeah. Not so much creepy weird anymore, though." He nestled up against him again and closed his eyes.

"Your mentor Grell has a few magic tricks up his sleeve too," reminded Undertaker as he resumed stroking his hair. "The ability to alter one’s appearance isn’t common to our kind, but it’s not so rare, either."

Ronald nodded mutely and hugged him tighter. Within moments, he was fast asleep again. Undertaker hesitated, wondering if he should try to free himself from the embrace and get up without disturbing him. He did feel good in his arms though, so he decided to lie there with him for a bit longer. A “bit” turned into several minutes, and those minutes ticked by until the mortician was lulled to sleep.

It was possibly the best nap he’d had in ages.

~xox~

Grell sauntered into William’s office as requested, dressed in his librarian outfit. “Well?” he asked, taking a seat in the visitor chair on the other side of William’s desk. He crossed his legs in a feminine gesture and folded his hands in his lap. Today he wore his long tresses in an intricate, twisting braid that fell to his back, tied off with a ruby-studded hair ornament shaped like a rose. He wore a matching brooch on his dress jacket and his lips were shaded the same color.  “Did you reach Ronnie, darling?”

William nearly remonstrated him for the use of that endearment, but his gaze lingered on the bend of Grell’s bared knee and the shapely calves, and he forgot to do so. “Yes. He is with the Undertaker. Apparently the boy saw fit to guard his property all night and the Undertaker found him passed out on a rooftop behind his home this morning. He will be taking the day off to rest.”

Grell sighed and shook his head in disapproval. “That old bat can take care of himself. Whatever could Ronnie have been thinking?” He absently chewed a crimson-painted fingernail in worried thought.

"Perhaps he was thinking of protecting his love-interest’s property while he slept," suggested William, trying hard not to admire the way the black tube skirt molded to Grell’s hips. He knew that Ronald had already confessed to Grell that he was dating the Undertaker—he’d heard all about it this morning when they clocked in. "I think Ronald is old enough to make his own romantic decisions, and he has been informed that there will be penalties if he fails to make it to work on time again tomorrow."

Grell huffed softly. “He’s always so concerned about getting that promotion he’s been after, and now he goes and compromises his chances for the sake of that loony old zombie master. You said the old man found him on another rooftop?”

William nodded in confirmation.

Grell spread his hands. “Then that means he violated his house arrest, didn’t he? He’d have had to go out of bounds of his property to get to Ronnie.”

"True, he did," agreed the brunet, "but only for a moment and given the circumstances, I feel we can overlook this brief violation."

"Why are you being so generous to him?" demanded Grell, tapping his lacquered nails on the desk as he watched the supervisor with keen eyes. "Because he’s one of your idols? Darling, the Undertaker can’t just keep breaking rules without punishment."

"I am being lenient in this case because he went to the aid of a Dispatch agent in need," corrected William calmly. "Had he not, Ronald might have fallen off that roof and injured himself. He likely would have slept through it as well and remained there wounded and helpless. After the incident with the demon and the possibility of another rogue Shinigami on the loose, I believe it’s a good thing someone was there to collect him before any harm came to him."

Grell shrugged grudgingly. “Well, there is that. Did you find what you were looking for in the library last evening?”

"I found nothing," answered William. He frowned. "Which brings up more questions. Does the name Victor Tally sound familiar to you?"

Grell thought on it. “Wasn’t he one of the first generation?”

William nodded. “Indeed; from back in the day when the Undertaker was still on active duty. He fought alongside him and Lawrence Anderson in the demon conflicts. Oddly though, pages detailing his history have been removed from books in the Great Library. The Undertaker requested that I seek confirmation that this reaper’s cinematic records are stored in the greater vaults. I found nothing.”

Grell’s brow crinkled. “Well, what does that mean? Tally is still alive?”

"Possibly. I suspect that the Undertaker wants confirmation because the two of them did not get along, back when they worked together. The history is vague because so much of it has been removed."

"Have you tried asking him?" pressed Grell. "Not that the old coot’s memory can really be relied upon, but if you think Tally could still be around and is a suspect, shouldn’t you clarify what sort of relationship the two of them had?"

William sighed. “I didn’t want to trouble him with such personal questions until I have the confirmation that Mr. Tally is either dead or indeed missing.”

"But you just said you didn’t find his records in the library," Grell pointed out with a shrug.

"No, but ours is not the only Dispatch library with a vault for reapers," explained William. "I am going to contact the other branches and request a search of their vaults for the records. If they too come up empty handed, then we must presume the possibility that this man is still alive somewhere. Whether this makes him a suspect or not has yet to be seen. First we need to rule out his death, before I begin questioning the Undertaker about him."

Grell uncrossed his legs and got out of his chair when the brunet sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He walked around behind the desk, his red and black heels clicking on the surface of the floor as he came up behind William.

"What are you doing?" demanded the brunet without looking up. Grell’s hands settled on his shoulders and began to kneed them.

"You are far too tense, Will," excused the redhead, rubbing the tight muscles with a firm, skilled touch. "I want you to take a moment to relax…if only a moment. Things won’t fall apart around us if you spare a few for yourself, darling."

"If only I had those moments to spare," sighed William. He didn’t push Grell away, though. He bowed his head and groaned as the deft, strong fingers massaged the back of his neck. "With Knox out for the day, someone will need to take over his collection assignments."

"I can do that," assured Grell. "I’ll take care of it while I’m out reaping my own assignments. I shall simply have to begin early and stay a bit longer after work to finish up the paperwork."

"I must say, I’m surprised by the work ethic you’ve been displaying," murmured William, his eyes closing in pleasure despite himself. "I would expect you to complain over being assigned a greater workload and overtime."

The redhead snorted delicately and he bent over to speak in William’s ear. “Not nearly as much as _you_ do, Will.”

The brunet shivered compulsively and he lifted his head and turned it to look at his hovering companion. Their eyes met and for a moment, he felt himself starting to lean towards him. Grell was likewise beginning to do the same. William caught himself just as his lips were little more than an inch away from Grell’s glossy red ones, and he cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses.

"I’m sure Knox will be grateful to you for taking up his slack," he said as coolly as possible. "You should probably get changed into your Dispatch uniform, Sutcliff."

The redhead sighed as if disappointed, and he nodded. “Of course.”

He patted William on the shoulder and went to leave, and that was when William noticed the loose thread hanging down from the hem of Grell’s skirt. “One moment, Sutcliff.”

Grell paused halfway across the room and turned to look at him. “Hmm?”

William opened his drawer and got out the scissors he kept in there. He got out of his chair and crossed the distance, motioning for the other reaper to turn around. “You’ve got a loose thread. Turn around so that I can clip it, please.”

"Oh." Grell shrugged and did as he was told, and William squatted down to pinch the thread between his thumb and forefinger. He snipped it, put the scissors down, and for some reason found himself reaching out to run his gloved hands over the material, smoothing it down over Grell’s hips and thighs. He felt a tremor go through the redhead and he smirked before he could stop himself.

"There," he murmured, picking up the scissors again and standing up. "Now you’re perfect."

Grell turned around to face him, and a blush was staining his fair cheeks rosy. “Am I, Will? Perfect, that is.”

The brunet swallowed, suddenly feeling like his tie was too tight. He loosened it. “On the surface, at least.”

Grell smiled and lowered his gaze, reaching out to trace patterns over the taller reaper’s collar. “Hmm, I’ve managed to pass William T. Spears’ inspection for quality. It rather makes me feel like celebrating.”

William cupped his chin lightly, urging him to meet his eyes. “It was never your appearance that was the issue, you know.”

_~What in blazes am I doing?~_

"I know…it’s my personality that you despise." There was a sadness behind Grell’s thick-lashed eyes as he said that. It made William feel uncommonly guilty for the way he’d treated him, over the years. He was trying so hard, and even the smallest compliment from him always seemed to make Grell’s day.

"It’s your incorrigible work ethic and flirtation," corrected William. "However, that has improved of late. You arrive on time, you do your work quickly and efficiently, you haven’t complained of overtime lately, and I’m still not quite sure how, but you have even taken on additional duties in the library. There is still room for improvement of course, but…"

He’d begun lowering his head to Grell’s as he spoke, and once again their mouths were barely an inch apart. Grell’s hand slid up from his collar to his neck, his fingers combing through the back of William’s hair sensually. His lips were parted invitingly, his eyes heavy-lidded and sultry.

"Damn it all," muttered the brunet as he closed what little remaining distance there was between them, and the moment his lips touched Grell’s, something even more unexpected happened. His body ached with desire, his breath quickened and his arms stole around the redhead’s waist. Grell’s lips softened against his in surrender, but they were by no means still. He returned the pressure of the kiss and he made a soft, needy sound in his throat. It was intoxicating.

William deepened the kiss, one hand coming up to slip beneath the long braid and cup the back of Grell’s neck, holding him still as he stroked his tongue against his and laid claim to his mouth in full. He felt the sharp points of Grell’s teeth, but he was a man used to practicing finesse and he avoided cutting himself on them as he plunged deeper. He swelled in his pants as the redhead’s tongue lovingly caressed his, submitting to the intrusion while encouraging it at the same time.

William dropped the scissors, forgetting all about them as he cupped Grell’s bottom with his other hand, pulling him tighter against him. His office door was locked from this side; nobody would interfere if he…

"What am I doing," he gasped, breaking the kiss.

"No William," pleaded Grell, not letting him pull away. He planted kisses all over his chin and jaw, leaving red lip prints in his wake. "Don’t stop…please, don’t stop."

His actions made the brunet fall back into it again, and before he knew it, William was reclaiming his lips. Both hands were now cupping Grell’s bottom and he lifted him, all self-restraint quickly leaving him in the face of his lust. Grell put his arms around his neck and he wrapped his legs around his waist, hiking the tube-skirt up in the process. With a low groan, the Dispatch supervisor carried him over to his desk and set him on top of it, his hands working at the buttons of Grell’s blouse. Tongues dancing and parting in each other’s mouths, the two reapers finally released all of the pent-up sexual frustration they’d both been clinging to for so long.

~xox~

A little over an hour later, Grell walked back out of William’s office looking a bit frazzled and walking somewhat gingerly. His crimson hair was mussed, and he had a dreamy look on his face. He started down the corridor with the intention of going to his own office and changing, but his supervisor suddenly grabbed his arm from behind the open door and pulled him toward him, making him stumble. William righted him and he spoke into his ear softly, words meant only for Grell.

"You are to report to me each day between shifts," instructed William, his heated gaze traveling the redhead’s body in a casually possessive manner. "And wear _this_ uniform. It suits you.”

Grell nearly swooned. “Of course, darling.” He sighed and smiled at the taller reaper, absolutely giddy. “I shall wear whatever you see fit.”

He reached out and caressed the side of William’s face. “Until later, my love.” He blew him a kiss, winked at him and sauntered away as gracefully as he could.

He felt like he could fly, he was so happy. He somehow made it into his office without swooning and he locked the door and leaned back against it. Still grinning like a cat with a bowl of cream, he slid slowly down the door until he was sprawled against it on the floor, unmindful of his crumpled skirt. He’d always known William would be a fantastic lover…forceful, thorough and virile. First he’d laid him down on the desk and grinded against him, sensually aggressive as he unbuttoned his blouse and hiked his skirt up. Then he’d removed Grell’s red satin and black lace panties, tossed them across the room and…and…

"Oh goodness," breathed the redhead, fanning himself at the memory of Will’s mouth around his cock. He hadn’t really expected such generosity from him. He half expected his lovemaking to be punishing…painful…but it wasn’t. He was certainly sore, but William had taken care to thoroughly prepare him before turning him over, bending him over the desk and pounding him cross-eyed. Grell counted on his fingers as he recalled every glorious moment.

"One…two…three times, that beautiful man brought me to bliss," he murmured with a giggle. He’d never come so hard or so much in a single encounter before, and the first time Will finished, he’d made the mistake of thinking it was over…but then he hardened again after several moments of panting against his back, and he demonstrated that his lust was not yet sated.

He took him in the chair after that, directing Grell to straddle him. All the latter could do was hang onto him and moan in his ear as William pumped beneath him, and Grell was faintly surprised they didn’t break the bloody chair. Will’s office furniture was the highest quality available though, and it withstood their vigor and passed the test.

"Will…oh, my William," sighed Grell, closing his eyes. He put a hand over his heart, feeling like it might soon leap out of his chest. "I really must calm down. I shall be useless if I don’t stop this."

It took several minutes more for him to do so enough to concentrate, though.

~xox~

"Wha’ has ya lookin’ so smug?" Eric asked a couple of hours later. They were paired up for the day, since Ronald wasn’t around to partner with him. Grell usually did his reaping assignments alone these days, being a veteran of the trade, but William evidently realized he would be distracted and Eric himself was concerned with his partner; who was resting at home after another spell with the Thorns.

Grell blushed, but his grin didn’t fade. “I look smug?”

Eric nodded. “Like an alley cat findin’ a good meal in tha garbage.” He leaned closer to the redhead, absently watching the street below for their next assignment. “Get lucky, did ya?”

Grell laughed softly and patted the taller reaper’s arm. “My dear Eric…a lady does not kiss and tell.”

His sly grin returned. “But today I’m feeling positively scandalous, so I shall make an exception!”

The Scotsman grinned back. “So who was it, then?”

Grell sighed dreamily. “Let us just say that his scythe is not the only pole William T. Spears has mastery over.”

Eric’s jaw dropped. “Tha boss? I dun’ believe it.”

The redhead gave him an annoyed look. “And why not? Surely you of all people could detect the sexual tension between us!”

Eric scratched his head. “Wull…aye, but…I ne’er thought he’d act on it!”

"Me either, truthfully," sighed Grell, "but he finally did, just this morning. It was magical!"

Eric was still staring with his mouth hanging open. Grell reached out to cup his chin. “Close your mouth darling…you’ll attract flies.”

"Ya know yeh could both get in trouble fer this," warned the Scotsman. "He could get written up fer fraternizin’ with an underling an’ sexual harassment."

"And who would file this report?" snorted Grell. "You? Certainly not I. One has to feel harassed to file for sexual harassment, and you, Eric Slingby, are the last person that should be lecturing anyone on having a romantic relationship with an underling."

Eric shrugged. Alan _was_ training under him still when they first started dating. “Fair enough. I jus’ hope ya both know what yer doin’. I’m an officer. William’s head of our department. It’s a wee bit different.”

Grell shrugged. “Not to me. I’ve wanted this man since our first assignment together and now that I have him, I don’t intend to let him get away easily.”

There was a scream from the street below as a man was shot in the back by someone, who took off running as soon as the deed was done. Grell looked down at the dying human and gestured to him. “Look, there is our mark. We can discuss this later.”

Eric sighed, shook his head and followed as the crimson reaper nimbly jumped down from the roof to begin collecting the records.

~xox~

-To be continued


	9. Chapter 9

Undertaker slept half the day away in Ronald’s arms—which was fine by him. He generally didn’t wake up before sundown anyway, and it was a delight to find himself still in the embrace of the sleeping agent.

"For a moment, I thought I’d been dreaming," he whispered.

Ronald had drifted off to sleep with his glasses still on, and they were lopsided. With a little smirk of amusement, Undertaker removed the eyewear and set it on the nightstand. Ronald squirmed closer to him with a mumbled protest when the action caused him to pull away, and the mortician chuckled.

"Cuddly chap, aren’t you?"

But he was quite fond of cuddling, himself. It had just been so blasted long since he’d had anyone to do it with. He caressed the blond’s sleeping face, admiring his features in the shadowed darkness. A beam of orange light snuck in through the curtains as the sun dipped lower, and Undertaker quickly reached up and behind to adjust them when Ronald grimaced as it fell on his closed eyes.

"Mmm," sighed the blond contentedly once the annoyance was gone.

Undertaker’s stomach rumbled, rudely reminding him that he’d had nothing save a biscuit and a piece of chocolate to eat today. Ronnie was bound to get hungry too, when he finally awoke. Not wanting to disturb him, the mortician tried to pull gently out of his embrace so that he could fix up something to eat for them both. Ronald just hugged him tighter.

"Now, don’t be a brat," chastised Undertaker softly. "Ronnie, I need to get up, love."

Ronald stirred but didn’t open his eyes. “Gotta pee?”

"Well no…not yet," admitted the older reaper, "but I’ve got a mind for some munchies and I can’t very well go and prepare some with you clinging to me."

"Stay a lil’ while longer," insisted Ronald sleepily, and his hand cupped the mortician’s bottom with casual mischief. "Like the way ya feel."

"I…share those sentiments," answered the mortician helplessly as that damnable blush returned to his cheeks. "Oh, bugger it."

His stomach could wait. The only problem was that Ronald’s sleepy groping had him getting a bit _too_ happy. He felt the boy grin against his neck and he sighed. The cheeky fellow knew exactly what he was doing.

"What’s the matter?" Mumbled Ronald, squeezing his bum again.

Undertaker hardened further in response. “I think you know, sweets.”

"Nothin’ wrong with a little wood," insisted the agent. He pressed his own groin flush against the mortician’s to demonstrate. "See? I’ve got it too."

Undertaker bit his lip. “Yes…I notice that.” Had he ever been this forward? He recalled a time when he was, but he’d forgotten how to be so candid and open with his sexuality.

Ronald finally opened his eyes, and he tilted his head back to look at him. “Wow. That little beam of sunlight is falling just right on your hair.” He brushed aside the ancient’s bangs to gaze into his eyes. “Makes you glow a little. You’re totally beautiful.”

The mortician smiled crookedly. “And you’re a little charmer, m’dear.”

"I’m being serious," insisted Ronald. He covered a yawn with the hand that was resting on Undertaker’s rump, before putting it back again. "If I’m really making ya uncomfortable, I’ll back off. I know it’s not the best time to be flirting with you."

"Actually," said the ancient, lowering his gaze, "It rather helps."

"Yeah?" Ronald grinned and brought his face closer. "Then how’s about a ‘good morning’ kiss?"

"Or a ‘good afternoon’ one?" teased Undertaker softly, raising his eyes to look at him. More comfortable around Ronald now, he found it easier to flirt back at times. He didn’t pull away when the blond closed the distance to capture his lips, and he stroked his back as their tongues met and caressed. His pulse quickened, and he blushed again when the agent reached up with his free hand to toy with the piercings in his ear.

Ronald pressed more firmly against him, grinding their arousals against each other through the layers of clothing separating them. Undertaker found it very titillating, and he couldn’t hold back the purr that rose in his throat. It went on for a little while until Ronald started to roll him onto his back, and the blond suddenly stopped and shook his head.

"No…not yet. We’ve still got a third date to get through, before I start getting too grabby with ya again."

Undertaker looked up at him, his silver hair spread out beneath him and his heavy-lashed eyes half-lidded with sensual intrigue. He was so very _tired_ of being alone…tired of hiding from the world and from his past. He caressed Ronald’s face with the back of his nails and he parted his lips, trying to come up with the words he wanted to say. This young agent had stayed up all night watching over him. He’d brought him gifts and held him all morning. How long had it been since he’d received romantic attention like that, and how long would it be before another love interest came along, if he put Ronald aside? What he was doing right now wasn’t truly living. Yes, he feared what might happen to Ronald if recent events turned out to be an encore of the past, but should he throw away such an opportunity without knowing for certain whether he was right?

"Mayhap we don’t need a third date after all, Ronnie."

The blond reaper stared at him with dismay. “I thought we already went over this and cleared it up! Look, whoever did this to you won’t get away with it, and I don’t know the details but I can tell you’re worried I might get caught up in something you don’t want to talk about. I think we’ve got chemistry and I want to see where it can go, ‘Taker, so don’t start flaking on me again.”

The mortician chuckled under his breath and shook his head. “I s’pose I didn’t make that clear enough for you. I’m not ‘flaking’ on you, pet. That wasn’t the context I meant.”

He could see comprehension leak into Ronald’s youthful features, then excitement, then wariness. “Are ya sure it’s not your grief talking? I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

Undertaker gave him one of those warm smiles that lately had begun to grace his lips just for him. “I’ve lived with grief before, Ronnie. I’ll manage. In the meantime, I think your affection will make it easier for me.”

Ronald smiled. “Yeah? That’s…aw man, I sooo wanna jump on that and rock your world, but…now I feel kinda shy all the sudden. Has to be those eyes of yours. They just go right through me and…er…okay, I’ll shut up now.”

The agent’s sudden attack of uncertainty endeared Undertaker further to him, and it made him feel a bit better about his own insecurity. “What’s say we have dinner and then let the chips fall where they may, yeah? We could even call this our third date, if you like.”

"Uh, sure," said Ronald, still in a state of obvious surprise. "I’m not good at cooking, but I’ll be happy to help you chop anything up."

"Hmm, I’m thinking you could take care of the onions," suggested Undertaker. He ran his palm over Ronald’s chest and he smirked at him. "Just try not to cut off a finger. I could sew it back on but I’d rather not have to."

Ronald’s eyes were drawn to the scar circling Undertaker’s left pinky, and he balanced on one elbow to take that hand and draw the digit to his lips. He watched the mortician with crafty eyes as he sucked his pinky gently into his mouth, somehow managing not to gag on the long black fingernail in the process.

"Is that what you did with this one?" he said after tonguing and sucking it for a bit.

Undertaker’s breath caught at the erotic action, and he nodded. “Indeed.” He drew his nails in on his left hand to make it easier for Ronald, and the blond obligingly sucked on them all, one at a time. The mortician was rapidly getting another “happy” in his pants, and he hissed softly and levered himself up on his elbows as he withdrew his fingers from Ronald’s mouth.

"You’re making lil’ Undertaker a bit too spry," he warned huskily.

Ronald looked down at the prominent bulge in the form-fitting pants, and he smirked. “He ain’t ‘little’, gorgeous.”

The mortician huffed with amusement, but he sobered and shook his bangs out of his eyes, trying to gather the confidence to say what was on his mind. He watched the young man with heavy-lidded bedroom eyes and he moistened his pale lips with the tip of his tongue. Ronald’s eyes followed the motion and he made a pained sound in his throat, the crotch of his trousers now sticking out conspicuously.

"What’re ya doing to me?" breathed Ronald, his voice dropping a note with desire. "I’m losing my interest in food, ‘Taker."

His reaction spurred the mortician on. He was losing interest in food too, but both of them really did need to eat and he expected any sensual encounter to last for quite a while. No harm in stoking the fires, though. “Speaking of ‘taking’,” he said with a chuckle, “how would you like me, Ronnie?”

Ronald swallowed. “Uh…wow…erm…” He scratched the back of his head, his blush suddenly outdoing Undertaker’s. He suddenly began to unbutton the older reaper’s long shirt. “Gimme a sec to think about it,” he murmured.

Undertaker didn’t stop him. He laid there compliantly, propped on his elbows on his back, and he allowed Ronald to unbutton his garment and pull it open to bare his pale, scarred chest. He was briefly worried the blond might be put off by the scars, but Ronnie had already demonstrated to him that he thought he was beautiful despite the marks of battle striping his body.

"Unf," said Ronald at last, looking him up and down with hot eyes. "Yeah…seeing you like this…I think I’d like to top. I mean, if that’s alright by you."  He dragged his eyes from the mortician’s lean chest and torso to meet his gaze again, uncertain. "I…I could go either way, ya know."

"So can I," assured the mortician. Mercy, he wished he could stop blushing…stop doubting himself. "I think, considering how long it’s been for me, that you should take the reins this time, love. I’m so bloody out of touch with even simple human contact."

Ronald smiled. “Well, I’m plenty in touch. Spears-Senpai calls me a social butterfly.” He bent his head to give the mortician a kiss on the mouth. “I’ll take good care of you, gorgeous. Just do me one favor.”

"What might that be?" Undertaker smiled back.

"Leave the shirt hanging open while ya cook. It’ll give me a nice view while I’m helping you out and when we eat."

Undertaker smirked. “I think that can be arranged, Mr. Knox.”

~xox~

Ronald tried to concentrate on the tasks set forth to him by his…boyfriend? Yeah, that was what ‘Taker was to him now. His boyfriend. Not just his date. It didn’t feel like a dalliance anymore, and thinking of him that way made his heart thud and gave him a thrill. He was dating a legend, and tonight, he’d get laid by one.

Holy shit, he was going to get laid. The thought had never excited him so much before, and he berated himself as a pervert even as he kept shooting admiring, lusty glances at his tall companion. ‘Taker could say he was rusty and uncertain all he wanted, but the man did everything with a sort of dark sensuality that Ronald was finding more and more irresistible. He was so hot, and the gentle, domestic side of him made him even hotter to the agent. Coupled with the undeniable fact that the man could kick some serious ass when he wanted to, it put Ronald in a state of utter excitement to think he’d have that pale, sexy body all to himself after dinner.

Undertaker had his hair pinned back while he was cooking, the long bangs held back from his eyes so that he could see. He’d gathered his hair into a loose ponytail as well, to avoid accidentally getting any in the food. It was very nice to see his face so un-obscured. Ronald couldn’t help but stare at him.

"Ronald," said the mortician softly, pausing in seasoning the chicken to glance at him. "What did we discuss about chopping fingers off, my dear?"

"Uh…" Ronald looked down at the onion he’d been slicing, realizing he’d stopped to stare at him. The knife was dangerously close to his thumb. "Don’t do it?"

The mortician’s lips quirked into a smile, flashing teeth. “That’s right. You can stare at me later, when you don’t have a sharp knife in your hands.”

Ronald sighed. “You’re just so sexy.” He let his gaze wander over him once more, caressing the bared chest and stomach. “I could get used to you cooking with your shirt hanging open.”

Undertaker chuckled. “You’re the one that wanted me to do it this way.” He started to close the shirt up. “Mayhap I should—”

"No," demanded Ronald hastily, shaking his head. "Don’t you dare. I can handle this job, promise!"

The mortician’s lazy sensual gaze roved over him, and he shrugged fluidly. “Then do it. The sooner we get our meal cooked and eaten, the sooner you can ravish me.” He blushed a little as he said the last part, but the flirty smirk still remained.

"Aw, man," breathed Ronald. He got a mental image of bending the silver reaper over the counter and fucking his brains out—which was unusual, because he usually fantasized about himself being the one to get pounded. Like he’d said to the man; he could go either way but his favorite role was generally to be the receiver. "I am sooo gonna ravish you, sexy thing."

He started to work faster, tearing his mind off thoughts of how many different ways he would like to take this lean, handsome creature…and be taken by him in turn, as well. Undertaker giggled under his breath, sounding a bit more like the creepy mortician that Ronald was used to before he’d seen the hidden facets of the personality beneath that.

~xox~

Dinner came out lovely, but it was difficult to focus on the small talk when he was so distracted by his guest. Undertaker kept watching the way Ronald’s lips formed words, and the motions of his throat as he swallowed food or drink. Yes, he was most definitely a comely specimen…and the mortician had promised to bed him after their meal. As that time came closer and closer, he found himself growing nervous. It was very easy to say that he wanted to make love in the heat of passion, but now he wondered if he could go through with it.

The self-doubt had begun to poison him again. It wasn’t just due to not being intimate with anyone for so long; it was also the haunting memory of what had happened to the last person he’d dared to show affection to. He tried to reason with himself that he was being paranoid, but he couldn’t banish the thought of Ronald ending up like the last one—and he hadn’t even bedded him.

"You okay there?" Ronald asked as he finished up the last bite of his greens.

Undertaker snapped out of it and he smiled at him. “Of course, love. I’m just thinking I might have used a bit more tarragon on this meat.”

Ronald shrugged. “Tasted fine to me. Better than fine.” He winked at him. “You’d make someone a good wife.”

The mortician smirked. “And I suppose you’d keep me barefoot in the kitchen if I were yours, eh?”

The agent shook his blond head and reached for his drink. “Nah. I’d keep you naked except for those boots.”

Undertaker chuckled and had a drink of his wine. “Careful with that. Something vital could get burned or scalded, and then where would we be?”

Ronald’s foot slid up his thigh under the table. “I’d nurse it back to health…kiss it all better.”

The ancient’s lips parted as the questing, sock-covered foot settled between his thighs and began to knead his crotch enticingly. He hardened shamelessly in his pants, his pulse quickening. “I’ve little doubt you’d be very good at nursing a fellow that way, Ronnie.”

The blond grinned at him, and he put down his drink and got up. He circled around the small table and he reached for Undertaker’s hand. “Looks like you’re about finished too. What do ya say we leave the dishes for later and go straight for dessert?”

Undertaker nearly made the excuse that he hadn’t finished his wine, but he knew it was a shoddy defense…and he _did_ want this charming young reaper. He pushed his chair back a bit and stood up with him, gazing down at him with quietly apprehensive eyes. “Seems you’ve got a sweet tooth of your own, m’dear.”

"For a silver fox like you, you bet." Ronald began to tug lightly on his hand, urging him to follow to the bedroom. His eyes scanned the mortician’s bared chest with appreciation. Undertaker went with him, his nervous excitement mounting. He wasn’t sure what to expect of this, but he had faith that his body would remember things that his mind had forgotten.

They made it into the bedroom and Ronald came into his arms, his lips seeking out Undertaker’s. The ancient returned his kiss, tongue seeking out the blond’s with growing passion. The heat of the moment raced through him, filling him with a sweet ache of desire. Ronald’s hands rested on his chest for a moment, before sliding over his pecs and down to his abs. His kiss became more aggressive and he tactfully turned with the taller reaper and began to back him up toward the bed. Undertaker’s shirt fluttered to the floor within moments, and Ronald gave his chest a light shove to push him onto the bed.

"Mmm," purred the blond as the Undertaker fell back on the bed, legs dangling over the side of it. "Right where I want you."

He straddled the mortician, his lips trailing kisses over his neck to his shoulder, tongue tracing scars as he went. Undertaker stroked his hair and he shivered a bit as one of Ronald’s hands boldly stroked his stomach and lower, making its way to the waistline of his pants. Still straddling his hips, Ronald sat up for a minute and he took his glasses off to set them on the bedside table. His hand reached under his body to cup the mortician’s groin and he smiled at him as he palmed it and Undertaker instinctively lifted up, pressing more firmly into it.

"Big fella," said the blond with appreciation. "I’m kind of worried I might disappoint you. I’m not equipped like you are, sexy."

"How you use it counts more than size, as I recall," encouraged Undertaker with a smile, though he’d begun to tremble uncontrollably. "Damn, I wish I could stop that," he muttered in closing, annoyed by how virginal he was acting. Might as well be a maiden on her wedding night, as timid as he was feeling. He couldn’t stop the flush from spreading over his pale cheeks, either.

Ronald’s expression softened, and he leaned forward to kiss the mortician lingeringly. “Well, I’ve never had complaints in that department,” he assured confidently, “and it’s okay to be nervous. Ya’ve been alone for a long time, ‘Taker. You’ve got a good excuse.”

His soft lips traveled the ancient’s jaw and throat again, nuzzling, kissing and sucking lightly. “I’ll make it real good for ya, no matter how we do it or how many times. I like ya too much to slack off.”

Undertaker’s lips parted, his breath quickening as Ronald squirmed down further and started unbuttoning his own shirt. “I…have oil we can use,” said the mortician. Heavens, they certainly shouldn’t go without _that_. “It’s in the medicine cabinet in the loo. Mayhap I should go and fetch it, before we go much further.”

Ronald shook his head, steadily making his way down his chest. “Don’t worry about that.” He paused unbuttoning his shirt and he reached into an inner pocket of his blazer to retrieve a tube of water-based lubricant from it, and he set it on the bed. His mischievous, green-gold eyes looked up and he smiled at the ancient, winking at him. “I’ve been keeping prepared for this…just in case. ‘Sides, I’m afraid if I let you go anywhere now, ya might lose your nerve.”

Undertaker licked his lips and smiled, unable to refute that observation. Ronald, it seemed, had learned to read him very well since he began to open up to him. “Observant chap.” He ran pale fingers through the soft, feathered blond hair and he made himself relax. His breath hitched involuntarily as Ronald returned his attention to his chest and circled his right nipple with his tongue, dampening it and making it harden into a pale pink bud.

"Love your skin," murmured the blond, pressing light kisses around the erect nipple before moving over to the other one to give it the same treatment. He loosened his tie and finished unbuttoning his shirt as he teased the sensitive flesh, lips closing over the nipple to suckle it. "Mmm, softer than silk," he finished as he started making his way down to his abdomen.

The blond’s jacket came off first, tossed carelessly to the floor. Undertaker ran his fingers over the sleeves of Ronnie’s shirt, finding the garter bands that allowed him to adjust the length of them strangely alluring. He was breathing heavily by now, and he felt confident enough to caress the agent’s chest and stomach, now bared for his pleasure through the open shirt. Ronald made a sound of approval and he unsnapped the sleeve garters so that he could shrug out of the garment. It fluttered to the floor near his jacket. He popped the button on Undertaker’s pants and he tugged them down enough to expose his cock.

The mortician tensed again involuntarily when Ronald’s feet touched the floor on either side of his left boot and the blond grasped his pink-capped erection. “It’s okay,” promised Ronald—much the same way he had that first time he’d initiated an encounter. He watched Undertaker’s face as he slowly began to stroke the length of it, and he smiled as the silver reaper’s eyes fluttered shut. “Damn you’re gorgeous.”

Undertaker opened his eyes again to find the blond gazing at his endowments with admiration. When he bent over to run his tongue along the underside of the shaft, the mortician sucked in a sharp, uneven breath and he twitched in Ronald’s grasping hand. “Oh…my,” he breathed, not even consciously aware of his own words.

The velvety lips kissed up and down his length next, almost reverently. He was hardly aware of his boots being unbuckled until Ronald began to work them off, and then his pants were quick to follow and land somewhere on the floor amidst other discarded clothing articles. He had to give the blond credit; he was skilled with undressing a fellow before he even knew what was happening.

"Haahh…Ronnie," he moaned when those lips encircled the swollen girth of his cock and slid down over them. One of the agent’s palms cupped the sack beneath it to fondle it as he began to work his mouth up and down the Undertaker’s arousal. The other stroked his bare, combat-marked thigh as he pleasured him, quietly reassuring him.

He was good… _very_ good. Undertaker closed his eyes and took some steadying breaths, vaguely recalling using his mouth this very same way on others in the past. He’d been very talented with this sort of lovemaking himself, once upon a time, though as Ronald turned his head and bobbed it faster, he had to admit the blond might be a tad better at it than he’d been. He stopped thinking of his performance anxiety and he just concentrated on feeling…enjoying the moment. He opened his eyes in surprise and looked down when he felt his member get fully encased, and a groan burst from his lips at the sight of Ronald deep-throating him.

That was particularly impressive to him. He was quite well-endowed and not many could manage to take him that deep without choking on it at least a little. The blond seemed to have no gag reflex at all, and as he began to make swallowing motions with his throat to accompany the firm suction of his lips and bobbing motions, the ancient swore his vision started to go black around the edges.

"Oh…oh mercy," he panted, head falling back against the soft comforter on his bed.

He wasn’t even aware that his companion had reached for the lubricant and opened it…wasn’t aware that he’d stopped massaging his balls and stroking his thigh to apply the gel to his fingers and warm it up. Ronald nudged his thighs further apart, hooking his legs over his bare shoulders as the oral pleasuring went on, and Undertaker’s back arched when he felt a slick finger press into him with shocking ease. The surprise was compounded when that questing digit found the gland inside within moments, and he became aware that while Ronald’s hands weren’t particularly big, the fingers were long.

"Ah, love," said the mortician in a shaken gasp as the tender spot was stroked with skill. Another finger wedged gently inside to join the first, and the slight discomfort of the breach was hardly worth noticing due to the greater feelings of pleasure lancing through him. His hips lifted instinctively and he grabbed the bedding with fisted hands as Ronald’s mouth released him to the tip, the tongue swirling around the head of it.

Styx, the boy wasn’t just good; he was _fantastic_. Undertaker began to pant heavily as Ronald’s head resumed bobbing, his fingers thrusting and curling inside to make his body sing with delight. The mortician’s toes began to curl and he vaguely heard the sound of a zipper being drawn down. The next thing he knew, the fingers withdrew to be replaced by the thicker girth of the blond’s cock.

"Easy, beautiful," said the Dispatch agent in a husky, breathy voice as he started driving himself in slowly. "Try not to clench up on me. I ain’t as big as you but I’m still big enough to hurt ya, and I don’t want that."

Undertaker’s breath hitched and he bore down, operating on instinct once again. Yes, he remembered how to make this part easier. There was some uncomfortable stretching at first, but he made himself relax and not fight the intrusion as he opened his eyes to gaze up at his lover’s youthful face. Ronald’s expression was a blend of concentration and delight as he steadily sheathed himself within him, his eyes meeting and holding the mortician’s. For someone so young to be so skilled still came as a surprise to the ancient, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying his efforts.

"Oh yeah," sighed Ronald with satisfaction, now fully encased in the older reaper’s snug passage. His eyes went heavy-lidded, the blond-tipped lashes partially veiling the glow in them. "Damn you feel good, baby."

"I’m…hardly an infant," gasped Undertaker, unfamiliar with the modern term of romantic endearment.

Ronald’s eyes opened fully again and he chuckled unsteadily. “Didn’t mean it…like that. It’s just an expression.” He withdrew slowly before driving himself back in, grunting a little at the squeezing sensation around his cock. “If it throws ya off, I’ll try to remember not to use it.”

He smiled at him and his hand curled around the mortician’s saliva-dampened erection, still slick with lubricant. Undertaker couldn’t even be sure when the boy had managed to get his pants off and lube himself up, he’d distracted him so thoroughly.

"I think…I can get used to it," reasoned the mortician, finding it difficult to care what strange expressions came out of this young man’s mouth in the heat of passion. "R-right now, I think you could call me a doughnut and I’d hardly care, darlin’."

Ronald’s grin widened, and he gave another pump, provoking a moan from the ancient. “You’re close. I’m glad you didn’t come while I was getting ya ready, though. I like making that happen with my dick if I can.” He started to rock steadily, leaning over Undertaker and incidentally pushing his legs up and back, deepening the penetration. “Feel good?”

It felt quite a bit _more_ than good, but the silver reaper’s attempt to respond resulted in an incoherent noise he couldn’t even describe—something between a whimper and a groan. This feeling…oh, how he’d missed it. He didn’t want it to end, but as Ronald guessed, he was very close to orgasm already. As Ronald’s smooth thrusts began to quicken, his inner walls were massaged steadily and the Undertaker’s breath huffed with each pump.

"I’ll take that…as a yes," panted the blond with a blissful smirk. "You feel amazing, ‘Taker. So tight…fuck, I dunno how long I’ll be able to keep this up…been a while since…I topped…ahh…unh…oh, yeah…"

~xox~

Ronald began to sound more like the receiver than the giver as the pleasure grew and grew. He knew what he was doing, sure, but he unfortunately didn’t have as much staying power as he would have preferred. He’d known guys that could keep at it for hours, either by taking brief breaks from movement when they started getting close to orgasm, or by being blessed with a short refractory period. He himself didn’t take very long to recover after climax, but he’d rather keep going for as long as he could.

That was rapidly proving to be a pipe dream, though. As he stroked his lover off and quickened his pace, the bed began to creak and his moans grew louder. Undertaker’s cock was producing little drops of precum and his toes were curling up. The mortician reached up to grasp Ronald’s tense shoulders, his nails digging grooves into it as the blond’s efforts brought him closer to the edge. There was a certain, satisfying kink to the pain that made Ronald groan. His low, resonant cries were like music to Ron’s ears and it increased his excitement.

He was so thankful when Undertaker came in his stroking hand, the mortician’s head tossing on the pillows as he tensed and shook with it. Ronald smiled at him, loving that stunning expression of pleasure on the ivory features as his lover succumbed to his climax. Now he could come as well, without feeling inept for it. He whimpered at the feel of Undertaker clenching around him and he slammed into him, unable to help himself. Louder cries burst from his lips; he’d never been able to maintain a stoic front whether he was giving it or taking it himself. Now was sure as heck no exception to that rule.

“‘Taker,” he moaned, eyes squeezing shut as that thrill of tension intensified in his pelvis and spread out. “Ahh…hahh…fuck!”

It happened then, and he vaguely felt those long nails combing through his hair as the pleasure exploded. Panting for air, he bowed his head and braced his hands on either side of Undertaker’s hips to keep from pitching forward. He twitched inside of him for several moments after spurting inside of him. Now trembling himself from the release, he opened his eyes again and he gazed down at the silver god lying there beneath him. The flush had faded from Undertaker’s cheeks and he smiled quietly up at him with a lazy, sensual expression of satisfaction on his scarred countenance. He traced the blond’s slack lips with a fingernail, before caressing his sweaty face.

Ronald turned his head to kiss the exploring fingertips, feeling like he’d just crashed through the gates of paradise. He was sad for it to end, but he was confident that Undertaker would be willing to do it with him again later. Maybe he’d even feel confident enough to switch with him and top. The thought of that would have given Ronald immediate wood, if he hadn’t just blown his load.

"That was amazing," sighed Ronald sincerely. " _You’re_ amazing.”

He eased the Undertaker’s legs off his shoulders and he withdrew from him, humming a little with residual pleasure as he slid out of his body. Undertaker chuckled softly as Ronald climbed onto the bed with him and laid his head on his chest with a contented sigh. The black nails lightly caressed the blond’s shoulder as he put an arm around him.

"I didn’t do much of anything except lay here," said the mortician.

Ronald lifted his head off his chest and shook his head. “Totally not true. You might not have realized it, but you were working those muscles and giving me a hell of a ride.” He grinned and he kissed the longest scar slashing over the mortician’s torso. “And you’ve got the sexiest bedroom eyes I’ve ever seen, too.”

"Good to know I was able to please you as much as you pleased me." Undertaker combed his fingers through his hair again, his breathing slowing down to normal as the afterglow of the encounter replaced the excitement. "My, my…you really _do_ have talent with that mouth, Ronnie. I’ll have to work hard to measure up to you when my turn comes around.”

Ronald’s heart skipped a beat at the prospect. “Hope you’re not just teasing when ya say you want to have a turn on me, ‘Taker.”

The ancient smiled. “Not at all. I just take a bit of warming up, I s’pose. If you can be patient with me, I’m sure I can recall how to perform. To be honest, I came close to asking if you’d mind switching roles with me, when you got me so hot and bothered. Then you were inside of me and well…that thought went out the bloody window.”

Ronald’s jaw dropped. “You were gonna ask t’ top? Aw, man…I would’a _jumped_ on that.” He sighed and looked down at his sated groin accusingly. “Stupid, horny ‘little Knoxie’.”

"You want me inside that badly, do you?" Undertaker’s smile softened a little, those expressive eyes revealing a touch of uncertainty.

"Well yeah," answered Ron with a little shrug. He laid his head on his chest again an he snuggled the older reaper. "But I ain’t complaining about how it went, either. You’re one hot…lover."

He was about to say _"fuck"_ , but he revised it. After that experience, he knew for sure that the Undertaker was a hell of a lot more than a fuck, and there was no way he’d feel the compulsion to leave while he was asleep.

Undertaker stroked his hair again, closing his eyes. “I think I need to build my stamina, love. You wore this old codger out and I’ll need to keep up with you, if I’m to keep you satisfied.”

Ron smirked. “I’ll bet you’ll surprise yourself, gorgeous.” He yawned and remembered at the last minute to cover his mouth. “But I’m just as worn out as you are, so don’t worry.”

"You’re still catching up on rest after that ridiculous sleep deprivation you put yourself through," pointed out the ancient.

Ronald smacked his lips and threw a leg over the Undertaker’s hips. “Had to take care of my guy,” he mumbled sleepily, his other leg hanging out over the side of the bed.

"I think mayhap we ought to get into a more comfortable position," suggested Undertaker softly.

A soft snore was his response, and he looked down at the yellow-blond head resting against his chest. “Ronnie?”

The younger reaper didn’t stir, already fast asleep.

"My goodness, it doesn’t take you long, does it?" Undertaker grinned with amusement, and he carefully rolled the blond off of him to maneuver him into the vertical position on the bed, before stretching out beside him. Ronald seemed oblivious to all of it, sleeping peacefully through the manhandling except to instinctively snuggle up to him once he was by his side again.

With a soft chuckle, the mortician held him close and allowed his own eyes to drift shut. Emotional turmoil had done as much a number on him as Ronald’s sleep deprivation had done on the blond. The experience they’d just shared, however, made it better for the legendary reaper.

~xox~

-To be continued


	10. Chapter 10

Ronald unfortunately had to return to work the next day. He woke up before the Undertaker and he enjoyed a bit of a stare before kissing him softly and whispering a promise to him. “We’ll have another date soon, beautiful…and a lot more after that, if you’ll stick with me. That’s a Knox promise.”

He smiled at the sleeping ancient and he dressed, scribbled a note to leave on the bed with him and left for his own apartment to get ready to go back to work and make up for lost hours. He wished he had something nice to leave him as a little “thank you” gift besides a note and a promise, but he could make that up to him later.

~xox~

"I’ll be damned," announced Eric as Ronald sauntered into his office, "look who’s on time t’day!"

"I’m not _always_ late,” protested Ron, yawning behind a gloved hand as he helped himself to the smaller desk in the Scotsman’s office. “Is Humphries comin’ in today? I can go to m’ cubicle if he is. Just trying to wake up a bit more, is all.” He yawned again. Man, Undertaker’s bed was way too comfy. He could have slept there all day if his phone alarm hadn’t gone off and woken him up. He was amazed it didn’t wake his lover.

“‘Fraid not,” sighed Eric. “They’ve had tae give him fewer hours, so he’s only gettin’ two full days an’ two half days a week. The doctors say any more than tha’ could tire him too much an’ cause an attack.”

Ronald nodded and frowned, dropping his paperwork for the day on the desk that Alan usually made use of. “That’s gotta be hard on you guys. Sorry, Senpai. If ya’d rather me go—”

"No, no," interrupted Eric with a shake of his head. He looked up from his data screen and he smiled at Ronald—though it lacked its usual vitality and charm. "I enjoy tha company in tha long hours, Ronnie. Yer fine. Maybe if our assignments ‘r close enough together, we could team up today. I know ye usually go out wi’ Sutcliff, but I could use tha company."

Ronald’s sleepy but content expression changed into one of sympathy. “Sure, Eric. I don’t think Sutcliff-senpai would care.” He really only used respectful titles with Eric as a formality now—usually when in the presence of others while on the clock. In the privacy of the office, and off the clock, they were buddies.

~xox~

Undertaker awoke much later that day—sometime after noon. He yawned and stretched, and it took him a moment to realize that he was in his bed; not his coffin. He then realized thanks to the lingering, pleasant soreness in his nether regions that he and his guest had gotten up to a lot more than dinner together, last night. He grinned and rolled over, intending to cuddle the young agent that had somehow broken down his walls. He frowned and patted the mattress. Ronnie’s side was empty.

At first, he entertained the thought that perhaps Ronald was making use of the latrine to wash up, but upon pushing his bangs up and looking at the little clock on his bedside table, he deduced he must have left some time ago.

"Couldn’t even wake me for a goodbye kiss, you cheeky bugger?"

He sighed, wondering briefly if the boy lost interest, once he got what he wanted. That annoyed him—not so much the prospect of Ronnie skipping out after getting down his pants, but his own reaction to it.

"Stop being such a bloody softie," he grumbled to himself, rolling out of bed so he could get washed up and dressed for work. He didn’t need to halt his life over these past events. It still gave him a haunting chill to think of Fluffy—along with an unusual feeling of sorrow for a rodent he’d only had for a few days—but he was the Undertaker. Things and people came and went in his life all the time. He was used to loss, used to solitude.

"Besides," he reasoned to himself after a quick shower and a change of clothes, "How do I know the bloke left ‘cause he lost interest? He’s a Dispatch agent, after all. He’s got work and—"

He’d just made it into the kitchen, and beside his stove on the counter he saw a note. He snatched it up and peered at it, recognizing Ronald’s handwriting.

_“‘Taker,_

_Sorry for splitting on ya without saying anything. Didn’t want to wake you up, and I’ve gotta make up for lost hours and stuff. I’ll be working late tonight but I’ll call on my lunch break and later tonight when I get off. I owe ya something special for last night._

_-R.K.”_

Undertaker smiled, feeling almost giddy with relief. Upon recognizing that feeling, he winced. “Oh, bugger…it’s really happening.”

Try though he might to deny it, he was getting more fond of Ronald with each passing day.

~xox~

The mortician was whistling a little tune to himself as he worked on the little garden he kept in the back. He mostly grew medicinal herbs here for his apothecary needs, and tending the plants gave him a sense of peace. When he made it to the poppies, he noticed a slip of folded parchment pinned to the stake and he frowned, kneeling down to pull it off.

"Now, what’s this?" muttered Undertaker under his breath as he unfolded the parchment. He immediately wished he hadn’t done that. Written inside was a single sentence in scrawling, spidery script that reminded him somewhat of his own handwriting.

_"I saw what you did."_

The mortician stopped squinting and he dropped the note, getting to his feet quickly. He looked around suspiciously, dry-mouthed and shaken. There was no sign of anyone in the little courtyard. There were a couple of mortals walking by on the other side of the fence, apparently getting ready to cross the street to the flower shop behind the mortuary on this block.

Slowly, Undertaker bent over to pick up the note. With some dismay, he noticed that his hand was trembling, and he hastily stuffed the note back into his pocket. His desire to garden dropped away, replaced by a powerful need to get inside and out of sight. He felt like there were eyes on him, but he couldn’t sense a trace of demonic or reaper energy nearby.

"Quit being such a bloomin’ nancy," he scolded himself, taking a steadying breath. "It’s just words. Just some fool prankster trying t’ get under your skin."

But that “fool prankster” had killed his pet rabbit, and he couldn’t decide whether it was rage or anxiety that caused his fists to clench, driving his nails into the fleshy part of his palms. He glanced down with a little start when he felt the blood trickling through his clenched fingers. He relaxed his fists and gingerly opened his hands to inspect the damage he’d done to himself.

"Brilliant, old chap. Gouging holes into your palms really helps the matter."

With a sigh, he headed back inside to make himself a relaxing spot of tea. He needed to think on this rationally. There was no way anyone sneaking about outside his property could have ‘ _seen_ ' anything he and Ronald had done together. He kept the heavy curtains of his bedroom windows drawn at all times. It was rubbish. Someone was just trying to scare him, and he needed to find out who that was. It wasn't Victor Tally's style to pull pranks like this, even if he was still alive. Then again, time could change a reaper. Undertaker knew this better than most.

~xox~

"It’s strange," William sighed as he went over the latest reports concerning Undertaker’s stalker case. "There have been no signs of an intruder beyond the evidence found at the scene. No leads to any culprit, whatsoever."

Grell sat on the edge of William’s desk with his legs crossed, again dressed in librarian attire. He smoothed his hair back into place, still blushing from their recent encounter. Unfortunately, it was business as usual when William finished with him, and it made Grell a bit frustrated. “Can’t you put that off for a bit and give a lady the afterglow cuddles she deserves, hmm?” He spun around and grinned at the brunet, running one bare foot along his thigh.

"Your lovemaking is a wonder, darling, but you get so dismissive and distant again, afterwards. Do we not have fun together in these encounters?"

William glanced at the foot making its way toward his groin, the red-painted nails glinting under the office lights. “Of course I enjoy our encounters, Sutcliff…but I do still have work to do. If you desire ‘cuddles’ afterwards, then invite me to your apartment tonight. I cannot put off my duties indefinitely to satisfy your every whim.” He reached down to stop Grell’s foot from proceeding any further.

Grell sighed and tossed his bright ponytail back over his shoulder. “So cruel, Will. But I’ve become used to that.”

He stretched out on top of the desk like a cat, drawing patterns over the surface with his fingernails. “I really don’t know why this case is so important to you. There really isn’t much out there that can pose a true danger to the old spook.”

"It is important to me because he is an icon of our kind," reminded William, "and it is not truly a danger to him that I fear, but a danger to us."

"Eh?" Grell frowned and propped his chin in his hands, rolling onto his stomach. "How could these silly pranks possibly pose a danger to _us_? Make sense, Will.”

"Remove yourself from my desk," ordered William in annoyance. "You’re crumpling my paperwork, Sutcliff."

With a little sigh, Grell sat up and hopped off. No sense in provoking the man after they’d just shared such a delightful encounter. He straightened his skirt and took a seat in the chair on the other side. “Fine, then. Now, will you tell me what exactly you mean?”

William’s gaze lifted and he stared absently at the crystal paperweight on his desk. “I mean that I do not believe the goal of this culprit is to cause the Undertaker any physical harm. This was a psychological attack, Grell, and we all know very well that the Undertaker is not the most stable of reapers. Push him enough, and he may very well go rogue again. That is not a thing we can afford to let happen.”

"Hmm." Grell examined his nails. "Yes, he does pack quite a punch when one must get physical with him." He wriggled a little in delight at the memory. "Say what you will, but rogue Unnie has a certain sexual appeal…if only he wouldn’t harm a lady’s face."

"I will pretend I did not hear that," muttered William.

Grell smirked, pleased to have evoked some hint of jealousy. His smile faded as he considered the matter. “But how can we even be sure the old man didn’t do this _himself_? What if there _is_ no stalker?”

William sighed and raised a brow at him. “Why in heavens would the man kill his own rabbit in such a way? Are you honestly trying to suggest that the Undertaker is stalking _himself_?”

Grell shrugged. “He’s utterly mad. Stranger things have happened. He stays confined for the most part; cut off from living contact. Box a man like that up for too long and he’s bound to snap, sooner or later.”

"He has had Ronald’s company," reminded William, "and you saw the expression on his face when we arrived to investigate the scene. We _all_ did. He was sincerely shocked. I do not believe for a moment that he was faking that look on his face.”

"Maybe not," countered Grell, "but that still does not mean he couldn’t have done it. What if he simply had no memory of it?"

"So you believe he killed the animal in his sleep?"

"Possibly." Grell nodded. "We really can’t say for certain, can we? I merely think you should put that down as a possibility."

William compressed his lips briefly, but he sighed and wrote it down. He could not refute Grell’s point, unpleasant though the prospect was. After the things the mortician had already done, no theory should be overlooked.

~xox~

After a long day at work, Ronald clocked out and got ready to call the Undertaker. This was one of his allotted days to go out, and he planned to take him somewhere nice. There were a few locations he had in mind, but he decided to talk to his lover about it and see what he’d prefer. He guessed ‘Taker would want to go someplace quiet, where they could sit without being too surrounded by people. There was an Italian place Ron knew of in London that offered little alcove tables for privacy. He thought that would be perfect, but he wasn’t sure if the mortician favored Italian food.

As he started walking toward his car in the parking garage, he pulled his phone out and he started to dial the mortician’s shop. He felt the hair rise at the back of his neck all the sudden, and he stopped and turned around. He couldn’t see anyone else in the parking garage, but he swore he felt eyes on him, just a minute ago.

"Someone there?" Ronald called. There was no answer. Feeling more spooked than he cared to admit, he slowly turned back around and started walking again. He felt a chill down his spine just as he made it to his car, and he sensed a nameless danger. He started to turn and manifest his death scythe, but something heavy and hard struck him on the back of the head before he could complete the motion. Ronald went down gracelessly, sprawling against the door of his little orange hatchback before sliding to the ground.

~xox~

Eric dug his keys out of his pocket in preparation to open his golden jaguar. He was moving swiftly, his long strides carrying him through the garage with haste. He wanted to check in on his partner and maybe rent a movie for them to watch together, and he’d had to stay a little late again. He heard a familiar cry up ahead and he looked up from his keys with a frown. It was then that he saw Ronald Knox lying on the ground near his car, being dragged by a tall figure all in black. He couldn’t see the other man’s face due to the hooded robes he wore, but his intentions seemed far from benign.

"Oi! Wha’ ya think yer doin’, o’er there!"

The Scotsman wasted no time in drawing his scythe and charging to the rescue. The hooded figure looked up upon hearing his shout, and it whirled way quickly. Eric gave chase, seeing nothing but flapping black robes as he hopped over his unconscious coworker and tried to catch up with the assailant. The hooded figure created a portal and went through it before Eric could catch up with him, and the Scotsman nearly collided with the wall when the portal closed behind his quarry.

"Damn it!" cursed Eric. He tried to sense where the portal led to, but it was masked too well. With a growl of frustration, he turned around and combed his fingers through his wavy blond hair. He banished his scythe and went to Ronald’s side, rolling him over onto his back.

"Ronnie, can ya hear me?" Eric patted his cheeks, trying to revive him. He gently felt the back of his skull and he winced when his fingers came away bloody. "Clobbered yeh good, din’t he?"

Was it a mugger? Or had Knox gained an enemy within the organization that had planned to be rid of him? The culprit hadn’t drawn a scythe when Eric found him, so he might have only planned to rob the boy and leave him.

"Either way, ya need tae get checked ou’ by a medic," reasoned Eric. He put Ronald’s keys in his pocket along with his own, and he gathered the unconscious reaper into his arms. With a little grunt, he lifted him up and carried him back into the entrance to headquarters.

~xox~

"Ugh…my head," complained Ronald some time later when he came too. He blinked open his eyes and he winced at the light, looking around in confusion. "What th’ hell happened? Were am I?"

Eric and Alan both stood over him, wearing expressions of relief when he stirred. “Take it easy,” cautioned Alan when Ronald tried to sit up. “You were struck over the head. Eric found you in the parking garage and brought you to the hospital.”

Ronald blinked in confusion. “I dun’ remember anything. What’d I do, slip and hit my head or something?”

Eric glanced at his partner and shook his head. “‘Fraid no’, Ronnie. Some guy knocked yeh ou’ an’ I came along jus’ as he was draggin’ ya off somewhere. I’ve go’ no idea why, ‘cept maybe he was tryin’ tae mug ya. Either tha’ or he thought ya were cute an’ wanted tae take advantage—”

Alan elbowed Eric into silence with a grimace of disapproval. “Anyway, the culprit got away before Eric could catch him,” finished the brunet. “I came as soon as Eric phoned me and told me about it. How do you feel?”

"Like I got hit over th’ head," answered Ronald dryly. "Shit, ya think someone was trying to molest me? Really?"

Eric shrugged. “No tellin’, kid. They dinnae have a scythe drawn so I’m assumin’ killing ya wasnae their aim. ‘Least, no’ righ’ there in tha garage. Maybe they were tryin’ tae drag ya off somewhere else tae do it.”

"You’re so encouraging," sighed Alan. He looked at Ronald again. "Can you think of any rivals you know of that might wish harm on you, Ronald?"

The blond shook his head and he winced, sitting up slowly and rubbing the spot. “Not off th’ top of my head, no. Everyone pretty much likes me.”

"Then it might have simply been a random attack," reasoned Alan, "some shady character just waiting in the shadows for a target. It might have been anyone."

"Could be," said Eric. He frowned at Ronald. "Still, I think ya ought tae consider leavin’ wi’ someone from now on when ya clock out. Whether it’s a mugger, a sexual predator or a killer, it’s best ya dun’ risk gettin’ targeted again."

Alan nodded in agreement. “I’ve notified Spears and he is going to have security tightened around the building.”

Ronald sighed. “Well, that sucks. Thanks for the rescue though, Eric.”

"Ye’d do tha same fer me." Eric smiled. "They ought tae be releasing ya soon, but tha doc says ya shouldn’t drive fer a day or so. Ya go’ a little cut on yer scalp an’ a bump, but it’s already healed up and goin’ down. They jus’ dun’ want tae chance ya driving so soon with a head injury."

Ronald shrugged. “No worries. I could just carpool with you for work, if that’s okay.”

"Sure," agreed the Scotsman. "We’ll take Alan’s car fer work tomorrow. There’s room enough for tha three of us in it…otherwise Al will have tae sit on yer lap."

"I’m fine with taking my car tomorrow," offered Alan with a smile. "No need for that. Eric can just drop me off at home on his lunch break and take his car back with him."

"Oh, right," recalled Knox, "You’re only working half-days now, most of the time. Well, if it’s not too much trouble for y’ both, that should be fine."

A nurse with strawberry blond curls came into the room, carrying a release form with her. She smiled at them, her gaze lingering on Eric with admiration she couldn’t quite conceal, and she offered the clipboard with the form to Ronald, handing him a pen along with it. “You’re all set to go, Mr. Knox! The doctor’s satisfied that no lasting damage was done, but you should come in right away if you feel any dizziness or nausea, okay?”

"Sure thing, cutie," agreed Ronald with his typical flirtatious habits. He signed his name where she’d indicated and he looked around. "Uh, are my clothes around here anywhere? Don’t really want to leave in a hospital gown."

"Right there on the chair," she answered, taking the release form and pen back. "You can change behind the curtain for privacy, Sir. Try to be a little more careful in the future. We don’t want to see you back here again too soon!" She looked at Eric and sighed in a smitten manner. "You were very fortunate Officer Slingby was there."

He chuckled, imagining she entertained romantic fantasies about the handsome Scotsman coming to her rescue, some day. Eric attracted more females than a seat in a beauty parlor. “I don’t want to come back here again either. Thanks a bunch.”

She nodded and left, giving Slingby one last, adoring look before exiting the room. Eric seemed oblivious to it—used to the attention he got from the female sex by now and rather desensitized to it. “I’ll go warm up tha car,” he announced, getting his keys out. He kissed his partner on the cheek. “Unless ye’d rather give him a lift home?”

"No, you can do it," said Alan. "I’ll meet you at our flat afterwards. I’ll get our dinner started."

"Right. I’ll drive ‘round front tae patient pickup, Ronnie. See ya downstairs." The older blond left them alone to go and get his car.

"Sounds good," agreed the blond. He gathered his clothes and he pulled the privacy curtains closed around the bed while Alan stepped back…more for the brunet’s modesty than his own. "So Alan, does it every bother ya when girls swoon over Eric?"

"It used to," admitted Humphries, "but not so much any more. I’ve gotten used to it, and I suppose that’s the price I have to pay for dating a hunk. I know he used to date a lot of women before he and I got together, but he’s loyal to me. I can’t blame them for looking, but that’s all they get to do. He’s mine until I die."

Ronald winced a bit at how casually the brunet spoke of his own impending death. He wondered how long it took Alan to reach the stage of just accepting his fate. “He’s crazy about ya. I um…don’t think he’ll be too quick to jump back on the dating wagon after you’re gone.”

"You think so?" Alan’s voice sounded a bit wistful.

Ronald nodded and pulled his pants on, hopping a little and adjusting his crotch before doing them up. “I _know_ so. Slingby might have been a player once, but I see the way he looks at ya. It’ll be a long time before anyone else catches his eye.”

"I don’t want him to be unhappy or lonely, but that makes me feel a bit better," sighed Alan. "Selfish of me, isn’t it?"

Ronald shook his head and put his shirt on. “I don’t think so. Ya want to know ya had an impact on his life…that he’ll miss ya when you’re gone. Sounds pretty normal t’ me.”

He finished getting dressed and he opened the curtain to find Alan regarding him with softly pensive eyes. “I didn’t speak too freely, did I?” asked the blond uncomfortably. He wasn’t always the most tactful reaper.

Alan smiled a little and shook his head. “No, I’m the one who brought it up. I just wonder if you would so something for me, after I’m gone?”

Ron impulsively scratched the back of his head, and he winced as the pressed down on the healing bump. “Sure. What d’ya need?”

"Watch after him," requested the brunet simply. "Make sure he isn’t lonely. If he goes for longer than a year without finding someone…help get him back into the game." He sighed and looked down at his feet. "Grell tells me you’re good at setting people up, and as much as I hate the thought of Eric with someone else, I don’t want him to be alone forever."

Ronald felt an annoying lump form in his throat. He normally didn’t put much thought into losing Alan, because there was no way to stop it and it was useless to dwell on the inevitable.

_~He’s really gonna die, and there’s not a thing any of us can do to stop that.~_

It seemed to hit him for the first time, and he swallowed. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep him from doing anything stupid and I’ll find him someone nice, if he doesn’t start dating again on his own after a year.”

He patted Alan on the arm. “Don’t think I’ll ever find someone equal to his partner, though.”

Alan smiled and patted him back. “Of course not. What are you doing tonight, Ronald? Would you like to come over and have dinner with us?”

"I would, but I’ve got plans for a date tonight," excused Ronald, feeling a little bad about rejecting the offer. "Maybe tomorrow?"

Alan shrugged good-naturedly. “Absolutely. I take it your plans for the evening are with the Undertaker?”

Ronald shrugged. The cat was out of the bag and there was no sense denying it. “I know folks think it’s weird, but I really like him.”

The brunet nodded. “If he makes you happy and treats you right, it doesn’t matter how strange other people find the match. I remember how many people were in denial when Eric and I began openly dating. I even got some hate letters from random women.” He chuckled at the memory. He’d stolen the office’s most eligible bachelor, and some of the ladies downstairs still hadn’t forgiven him for that. “I wonder how many of them count the days until he’s single once more.”

"That’s a shitty thing to do," grumbled Ronald. "I swear girls can be ten times meaner than any guy."

"Some of them," agreed Alan lightly, "but as I said before; I don’t really blame them. I just hope Eric doesn’t end up with any of the ones that wish I would die faster. He doesn’t need to be with someone that cruel and self-centered."

"No way…but I think Slingby’s got better taste than that. He’d never go out with one of those harpies, no matter how fine looking some of ‘em are. Walk me down to the lobby?"

"Okay," nodded Alan.

~xox~

"I don’t know if I’m up for going out tonight," Undertaker said when Ronald got the opportunity to try calling him again. "Sorry, chap. It’s been an off day for me."

Ronald frowned and wandered through his flat absently. There was something in Undertaker’s voice that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “Everything okay? Did something happen t’day with the stalker?”

The mortician hesitated for a moment. “It’s nothing, love. I’m just not in a very sociable mood, this evening.”

Ronald sighed, a little disappointed. “Well, how about I just come over with some takeout, then? I’m not gonna lie; I was looking forward to wining and dining ya tonight at this Italian place I had in mind, but I won’t try to force ya to go out if you really don’t want to.”

Undertaker sounded a bit uncertain. “I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea either, Ronnie.”

The frown returned to the blond’s lips, and he leaned up against the bar in his kitchen. “Don’t y’ wannna see me, ‘Taker? I’ve been thinking about ya all day.”

"It’s not that," assured the ancient. "I’m just feelin’ a li’l…morose. Don’t think I’d be very nice company, right now."

"Is that all? Hell, then let Knoxie cheer you up! I can bring a smile to those pretty lips, gorgeous."

"But—"

"No ‘buts’," interrupted Ronald. "You don’t get out enough. If you’re not gonna use your free day, at least have a little company for a bit. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I just left you sulking all on your lonesome? Be over in about ten, babe."

"Ronald—" Undertaker tried to say, but the blond had already hung up.

~xox~

The mortician answered his door with an exasperated expression on his pale face, a little over ten minutes later. “You have issues with the word ‘no’, don’t you, lad?”

Ronald gave him a charming grin and a wink, pulling a ribbon-wrapped box out from behind his back. “Only when I think ya really mean ‘yes’ and just don’t want t’ admit it. Go ahead; open it up.”

Undertaker looked down at the small box now sitting in his hands, and he chuckled in spite of himself. “Charming li’l bugger. Come on in, then.”

He stepped aside to allow his lover space, and he closed the door and locked it behind Ronald. Curiously, he lifted the box to his ear and shook it. “Hmm.”

"Aren’t ya gonna open that?" pressed Ronald eagerly, nodding at the gift.

"I like to try and guess the contents," explained the mortician, "but I s’pose you’ll pester me ‘till I open it, yeah?"

Ronald grinned. “Ya know me well. Come on, I want to see if you like it.”

Sighing in defeat, the mortician untied the pink ribbon holding the gift box closed. “You’re spoiling me, Dormouse.”

"Dormouse?" repeated the blond. "When did _that_ nickname come up?”

Undertaker smirked. “When I thought about how deep and peacefully you sleep. It came to me today when I thought of how bloody adorable you look in your sleep. Reminds me of the Dormouse from ‘Through the looking glass’, by Lewis Carol. Ever read it?”

"Pfft, me, read a book?" Ronald grinned and plopped down on the lid of one of the coffins lying on the floor of the shop. "I hate to read. I get stuck reading reports all day long, so the thought of doing even _more_ reading when I get home is kind of a turn-off.”

"You might find leisure reading surprisingly fun, if you’d just give it a try," chastised the older reaper. "Hmm, what have we here?" He lifted a silver, engraved pocket watch from inside of the box and he stared at it as it free-spun from the chain it dangled from. Embossed sculls and roses decorated the front of it. "My, this is quite lovely, Ronald."

The blond grinned. “Read the inscription on the back, gorgeous.”

Undertaker stopped the spinning so that he could peer at the lettering inscribed into the back of the time peace.

_"A peace of time for a timeless beauty."_

Ronald blushed a little and looked down with a smile. “Kinda cheesy, right? It’s just…every time I look at a watch or a clock, it makes me think of you. I know ya don’t wear wrist-watches, but I’ve seen ya pull out a pocket-watch a couple times. You told me yours hasn’t been keeping time so well, so I picked this one up for ya and had ‘em engrave it custom. Just got it back on the way here.”

Undertaker was touched by the gesture. “Ronnie, you really didn’t have to, love.”

The blond shrugged. “Wanted to. If you’re gonna be dating Knoxie, you’d best get used to getting spoiled.”

The ancient opened the watch up, finding it already wound and set. Once again, this young man had endeared himself to him, treating him with kindness and consideration that he hadn’t experienced in such a very long time. He closed the watch and put it into a robe pocket with a smile, sitting down beside Ronald on the coffin. He put an arm around him and drew him into his embrace.

"Thanks, darlin’. I love it." Another thought occurred to him, and he blurted it out without thinking. "And I think I might love _you_ , too.”

Ronald stared at him and the mortician inwardly cursed himself for speaking so freely. “Eh, that notion gives you a fright, does it? It just came out of my big mouth before I knew it was even there.”

"It’s…it’s okay," assured Ronald, looking a little awed. He started to smile. "Maybe it slipped out without ya wanting it to, but…I mean, are you for real?"

Undertaker glanced down at himself and patted his robes. “Last time I checked. Can’t say I’m imaginary.”

The blond laughed and shook his head. “That isn’t what I meant, old fart. I meant…did ya mean that, or was it just an exaggeration?”

The mortician sighed and lowered his gaze. “I…meant it. Feels genuine, anyhow.”

And the more he thought of Ronald getting hurt, the less he could deny the sincerity of his declaration. He really was starting to fall in love with the agent.

Ronald stared at him a moment longer, and then he took his hands in an oddly adorable manner, squeezing them. “Ya know what? I think I do, too. Love ya, I mean. Nobody else ever gave me this funny feeling inside. Every time I’m around you, I’m just so bloody happy. I’ve never been in love before, so I could be wrong…but I _definitely_ care a lot about ya, and I have more fun with you than I’ve ever had with anyone—whether we go out on th’ town or stay in and just hang out.”

Grinning, the younger reaper leaned in and gave him a soft smooch on the lips. “And the sex…holy shit. It was explosive. I _definitely_ want more of that to happen.”

Undertaker snickered beneath his breath, charmed by Ronald’s unrestrained admittance. He really was a delightful fellow. He sobered a bit as he thought of the note he’d found in his garden today, his smile fading a bit as he gazed at his lover.

"What’s wrong?" asked Ronald when he noticed the pensive look. "You were just laughing and now you’re looking at me like I’ve been diagnosed with the Thorns, or something."

Undertaker sighed and shook his head, forcing another smile. “It’s nothing, love. As I said to you on the phone; it’s just been a rather off day for me.”

"Yeah, I can relate." Ronald rubbed the back of his head and winced a little. "I had a weird day, myself. Some bloke knocked me out in the parking garage as I was leaving work, and I guess he tried to drag me off t’ do…whatever he had planned for me. Slingby-senpai came along and chased him off, though." He shrugged. "I think it was just a mugger."

Undertaker went still. “This happened today?”

The blond nodded. “Yeah. Woke up in th’ hospital with a bump on my head. I don’t recall anything, ‘cept a creepy feeling I was being watched. I didn’t see anyone around, either. It’s kind of embarrassing, t’ tell you the truth. I thought I was more alert than that but he snuck up behind me easy as pie and knocked me right out.”

"That doesn’t sound like any common mugger t’ me," observed the mortician, scratching his chin. That awful feeling was back…the feeling that he was endangering Ronald just by associating with him.

"Hey, I’m fine," assured the blond. "Don’t look so worried, kay? It’s healing right up and the doctor said I didn’t have a concussion or anything. They’re tightening up security in the parking garage and I guess we’ll all start leaving with a companion for a while, so nobody has to walk to their car alone."

The news did not cheer Undertaker. He unconsciously stuck his hand in his pocket, where he’d placed the folded parchment with the ominous note from earlier in the day. Ronald watched him curiously.

“‘Taker, did something happen today?” he asked again. “You’re acting awfully strange. I mean, stranger than usual. You’d tell me if something else happened with the stalker, right? I’m not allowed t’ be on the case anymore on account of our relationship, but as your boyfriend, I think you should tell me if anything’s going on…and you need to report it, if there is.”

The mortician eyed him from beneath his bangs, torn. Recalling the last time something happened and the way the stubborn chap decided to watch over his property all night, he was hesitant to say anything. Then again, the incident in the parking garage gave him more reason to believe Ronnie was in danger. He had a right to know.

Slowly, he withdrew the parchment from his pocket and he offered it to the agent. “Found this in my garden, today.”

Ronald took it from him and opened it up to read it. His brows furrowed and he shook his head in confusion. “Saw you do _what_ , exactly? I don’t get it.”

Undertaker bowed his head and let his bangs fall back over his eyes. “I think it’s referring to you and I shagging, love.”

Ronald blinked. “Okay, this guy—whoever he is—is a serious pervert. We’ve gotta let Dispatch know, ‘Taker. If he was spying on us…well…how could he have ‘seen’ us doing it, anyway? Ya had all of your curtains shut.”

The mortician shrugged. “Might have heard us and guessed what was goin’ on. Who knows? Point is, they’ve got an objection to our intimate relationship, Ronnie. I think they could be after you…just like the last one.”

Ronald shook his head again. “What last one? I remember you said something about an old lover going off his nut at you, but ya never gave me any details.”

Undertaker sighed. “Victor Tally. He killed a mortal I had befriended, long before he vanished. He thought we were lovers, y’ see, and he was a really jealous sort.”

"And you think all this is being done by him?" Pressed Ronald.

The mortician turned his head to look at him. “Don’t know, love. It seems impossible, but he hated me from the day I broke things off with him t’ the day he disappeared. He became obsessed, and if he even _thought_ I had a sexual interest in anyone else, he would send me warnings not t’ even think on it. I told you he was the one that led the group to come and take my scythe, didn’t I?”

"Yeah, I remember you telling me that." Ronald reached out to touch the scar around the ancient’s throat, his touch light and gentle. "But nobody’s seen hide or hair of him in years, and he’s presumed dead. Could it be someone else? Someone that knows your history with him?"

Undertaker took Ronald’s hand and close his eyes, turning it over to kiss the palm. “Only a very few left alive know about me and Tally’s relationship. Anderson’s one of them, and I know for bloody sure he’d never do a thing like this. Part of me wants to think it’s a copycat, but since his body was never found…I just don’t know.”

Ronald sighed. “Well, I’m not giving you up just ‘cause some obsessed wacko’s started stalking you…and I don’t care _who_ he is.”

Undertaker smirked a little, shaking his bangs aside to look at the younger reaper. “I don’t want to give you up, either. Nor do I want to see you hurt, Ronnie. Your attacker today has me a might worried.”

"Think it might have been him?" guessed Ronald. "Come t’ think of it, he did move pretty damned quick and silently. I guess an ancient could do that. I’m more or less a match for other reapers, most of the time."

That didn’t help alleviate Undertaker’s concern one bit. “And Officer Slingby didn’t get a look at the fellow’s face before he fled?”

"No such luck," sighed Ronald. "Said he was wearing a hooded robe or something, and he portaled out before Eric could catch up with him. He said he tried to track the portal to see where it came out at, but it was masked. I’m hoping it really was just some random mugger, and not your stalker."

"Let’s hope," agreed the ancient softly. "Well, I s’pose I ought to get on the bell with Dispatch and let them know about this note. Could be connected to what happened t’ you, after all."

"Yeah, could be." Ronald stood up with him, and as the mortician started to walk away to his desk, the blond suddenly embraced him from behind. "Hey…don’t let this scare ya out of being with me, all right? We’re really hitting it off, and giving in just means he wins and you and I both end up miserable. I can’t accept that."

Undertaker stopped and laid his hands over the smaller ones resting on his midsection. “How could I give you up, now? It’s a bit too late for that, m’dear. I’m a selfish ol’ bloke, but I want you too much to let you go.”

"Good," said Ronald, grinning against his back. "That’s what I like t’ hear."

He swatted Undertaker’s backside playfully. “No go make the call and when you’re finished, let’s talk about having a bite to eat. If ya still don’t wanna go out, we can order something to pick up or cook up something here…but I’m stayin’ the night with ya either way.”

"Stubborn li’l dormouse," chuckled the ancient.

~xox~

-To be continued


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

They didn’t have sex that night, which was surprisingly okay by Ronald. Sure he would have liked to, but Undertaker was still so troubled by what had happened to him in the parking lot and finding that note in his own garden, Ronald didn’t press him. Instead, they enjoyed a nice, intimate dinner together and a nightcap, followed by talking for hours about various things. Ronald learned a bit more about Undertaker’s former days with Dispatch, and he in turn told him stories of his own experiences in the field. They stripped down and held each other, kissing and caressing until Ronald finally drifted off to sleep. It was different for him to share a bed with a lover without going all the way—particularly after they’d already done it once. That was how he knew he really _was_ falling for this kooky old ancient; he didn’t _need_ it to go that far all the time.

As he slept, Ronald was treated to some interesting dreams. First he dreamt that he went back in time and joined Dispatch when the Undertaker was still on active duty. He dreamt that he started training under him, and he dreamt that he came upon Victor Tally attacking him and intervened. The dreams became darker, after that. He dreamed about Fluffy, and he tossed fitfully in his bed as his mind conjured the scene of the rabbit’s death. He dreamt that he caught the culprit in the act, but he couldn’t make out his face. He then dreamt that Victor Tally was back from the dead and came after his lover, torturing him to death before Ronald or Dispatch could arrive on time to save him.

“ _Undertaker_ ,” cried Ronald, sitting bolt upright in the bed with wide, panicked eyes. It took him a moment to realize where he was, and he sighed in relief and started to reach out for the reaper he thought should be lying next to him. Undertaker’s side of the bed was empty. Confused and disoriented, Ronald snatched up his glasses from the nightstand by the bed and he gave a little start when he realized his lover was standing by the bed motionlessly, staring down at him.

“‘Taker? Man, I’m sorry…did I wake you up?”

The mortician didn’t move. His eyes glittered beneath his bangs, barely visible under the fringe. Ronald scratched the back of his head and he crawled over to that side of the bed, reaching up and out to wave his hand before the ancient’s blank gaze. “You sleepwalking, beautiful?”

Still there was no verbal answer, but Undertaker tilted his head to the side and started to smile. It sent chills up and down Ronald’s spine. He’d never seen this happen before and it was more than a little unsettling. He tried to recall something he’d heard about sleepwalkers and how to deal with them. You weren’t supposed to startle them, right? He decided to try talking to him, thinking maybe he could coax him back into bed and he could just forget about this creepy moment.

"Okay, I can tell you’re not all ‘there’ right now." Ronald started to reach out for him with the intention of taking his hands. "Just come back to bed, a’right? H-hey! Where ya going?"

Undertaker had slowly turned and started to walk away from him, heading for the door. As Ronald watched in bewilderment, the ancient took a robe off the hook on the door and slipped it on. Ronald paled as his lover pulled the hood up over his head. That robe…it was the same kind his attacker had been wearing yesterday, according to Eric’s description of the assailant.

"What the bloody hell’s going on here?" whispered Ronald. He spoke louder as he called out to his lover. "Undertaker, stop! I dunno what you’re planning on doing, but you’re not awake!"

He scrambled out of the bed and snatched up his pants, tugging them on hastily to follow the older reaper as Undertaker left the bedroom and moved through the house like a phantom. The young Dispatch agent was getting a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he hurried to keep up with him, calling out to him in vain all the while.

“‘Taker, wait! What are you…up…to?”

Ronald stopped in his tracks and stared as the ancient went to his writing desk in the shop section and picked up the stylus sitting in the ink well. As he watched, the Undertaker retrieved a slip of stationary from his box and began to scrawl on it. Now just as curious as he was wary, Ronald came up quietly behind him and leaned around him to see what he was writing.

_"I saw you."_

"What the fuck?" whispered Ronald to himself as the mortician replaced the stylus, picked up the note and headed back into the living space. Ronald jumped out of his way and then followed behind him, and that feeling of dread increased with each tick of the clock. Undertaker went into the kitchen and placed the note on the counter—right about where he would be preparing breakfast in the morning. He then turned to look at Ronald, and the younger reaper got the strange feeling that it wasn’t his lover staring back at him right now. The ancient put a bone-pale finger to his lips.

"Shh." Undertaker then smiled at him in that chilling way that reminded Ronald of the sort of smiles his "mortician" persona so often gave. He moved aside again with wide eyes as the Undertaker began gliding toward him, and he tensed, half-expecting an attack. The older reaper paid him no more mind as he slipped past him into the hallway and went back into the bedroom.

Ronald’s heart was thudding like a hammer in his chest as he crept after him and peeked into the bedroom. Undertaker was back in bed, nude once more. He’d hung the robe back on its hook and was now lying on his back with one leg bent and one arm flung out, apparently peacefully asleep. Ronald cautiously approached, his mind piecing together possibilities that he didn’t even want to think of.

“‘Taker?” he whispered, gingerly nudging his out-flung arm.

"Mmph," muttered the ancient. He rolled onto his side.

Ronald swallowed and bent over him, ready to jump away if he swung out at him. “Undertaker…baby…you okay?”

One white-lashed eye fluttered open to look at him, the double-irises contracting and expanding independently of each other as his vision focused. “Mmm? Oh, Ronnie.” He yawned and smacked his lips, and then he gave him one of those fond smiles that the blond had become used to from him. “‘Course I’m all right, love. Why wouldn’t I be? Had a nightmare, did you?” He reached out absently to pat Ronald’s hand, resting on his shoulder. “Come to bed. I’ll snuggle it away.”

At any other given time, Ron would have jumped at the offer. Now, however, he was spooked to the roots of his hair. If Undertaker wrote that note to himself unwittingly, then it was just as likely he’d attacked Ronald in the parking lot and killed his own rabbit. There might not be another culprit at all…or the notes were just something he started doing after all this started…maybe ‘cause he had a guilty conscience? He was so haunted…there was no telling for sure without further investigation.

"I’d do it in a heartbeat," Ronald made himself say, "but something’s come up and I’ve been called in. Sorry, but I’ve gotta go."

The mortician frowned a bit. “Pity. Well, you know where I’m at, when you finish this call-out. You’re always welcome, darlin’.”

Ronald felt an ache in his chest, and his wariness of the older reaper lessened a bit. Whatever the hell was going on, Undertaker wasn’t doing it deliberately…of that much, he was certain. Ronald bent over and kissed him softly on the lips, and then he sought out the watch he’d gotten for him, sitting on the bedside table on the ancient’s side of the bed. He picked it up and tucked it into his lover’s long-nailed hand, closing Undertaker’s fingers over it.

"I know. I’ll be back later…promise. I’ve just got to take care of some things, okay? Try not to stress too much over this stalker business, and get some sleep."

"It’ll be a bit harder without my dormouse to cuddle," muttered the Undertaker with a sigh. He folded his hands over the watch and pillowed his cheek on them, and his accent thickened with that Finnish influence. "I will do my best, darling love. Just lock up when you leave, would you?"

Ronald swallowed again for a different reason, and he stroked the ancient’s slightly tangled, silver hair. “Sure. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

With a sigh, he collected the rest of his discarded clothes and his phone, and on his way out he also took the note that Undertaker left for himself in the kitchen. Not only would it serve as evidence, but there was no sense in leaving it there for the man to find and freak out over. After making sure the place was locked up tightly, Ronald summoned a portal that would take him back to Shinigami London. He had about three hours before work started, but there was no way he could get back to sleep now and after seeing all that, he wasn’t sure he was safe sleeping beside his lover.

* * *

 

William was faintly startled to find Ronald Knox waiting outside his office door when he arrived at work. He checked his watch impulsively, wondering if it was wrong and he was actually late. It seemed to be working just fine. “Well, _this_ is certainly a unique development,” he observed aloud. “You’re actually _early_ , Knox. Did Hell just freeze over?”

"Ha ha, boss," answered the younger reaper. "I’m here early ‘cause I’ve really got to talk to you about something. It’s very important, so can I come into your office with ya?"

Puzzled but intrigued, William unlocked his door and nodded. “Very well. I must admit that you’ve got my curiosity piqued.”

He held the door open and gestured for the blond to go in first, and when he did, William followed and closed the door behind them. “Please have a seat,” he instructed, gesturing at the visitor chair on the other side of his desk. As Ronald did so, he went to his leather swivel chair behind the desk and sat down, himself. He laced his fingers together on top of the table and regarded the other reaper expectantly. “Well, what can I do for you?”

Ronald sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair. “I really don’t know, sir. Something very strange happened this morning at ‘Taker’s place, and it’s got me kind of freaked out.”

William frowned. It took a lot to shake Knox, so he knew it must be fairly serious. “Did the stalker do something again?”

Ron grimaced and reached into his blazer pocket. He pulled out a slip of stationary and he slid it across the desk to William. “You could say that.”

William looked at the scrawl on it, and he raised a brow. “What is it he supposedly saw the Undertaker doing, Ronald? It makes no sense.”

The younger agent bit his lip and shook his head. “I’m thinking it means he saw us together…but boss…Undertaker wrote that himself. I saw him do it.”

William blinked in confusion. “Why on earth would the man write a note like this to himself? Make sense, Ronald.”

"I’m trying to," insisted the blond in frustration. "Look, I couldn’t tell you why or when it started, but Undertaker’s been walking in his sleep. We were in bed together and I woke up to find him standing there early this morning. He looked…different. Demented."

"One could argue that the Undertaker normally appears that way," reminded William dryly.

"But that’s just an act," explained Ronald. "He’s a totally different guy under those crazy grins and laughter… _trust_ me! The Undertaker I’ve gotten to know is kind of eccentric, but he’s no lunatic. Anyhow, he went and got his robe and I noticed…well, it reminded me of the description Eric gave of what that guy who attacked me was wearing.”

William’s frown returned. “Coincidence, perhaps.” As unhinged as he knew the Undertaker was, he had trouble believing that the man would attack his own lover or kill his own rabbit. “It’s possible that his own anxiety over the situation drove him to subconsciously write that note to himself, Ronald. Did he get aggressive with you at all when he was walking in his sleep?”

Ronald shook his head. “No, but after he wrote the note, he looked at me and…well, it was creepy. He shushed me and he smiled, and then he just walked back into his bedroom, took the robe off and laid back down. Boss, I’m worried about him. It was like someone else was looking back at me. Do you think…I dunno…can reapers get possessed?”

"There have been cases of such documented before," answered William, "but Ronald, I think you may have to come to terms with the possibility that the Undertaker has multiple personalities. The man you’ve come to know may not even be aware of the others, regardless of whether he puts on an act for people or not. This has me concerned—not just for his safety, but for yours. I think perhaps it’s time we brought him in for psychological evaluation."

Ronald started to protest. “I don’t wanna do that to him, boss. I…” he trailed off as William gave him a stern look, and he sighed. “Let me talk to him, before ya send a bunch of agents to try and bring him in by force. Maybe if I tell him what I saw he’ll come in on his own.”

"Knox, I would rather you not return to that place alone," warned the supervisor. "If the Undertaker is actually the one behind all of these things that have been happening, there is no telling how he may react or what he may do. As much as I admire the man for his past services to Dispatch, I cannot allow him to become a threat again."

A thought occurred to him, and he frowned. “Wait…the attack on you occurred yesterday.”

Ronald nodded. “Yeah, so?”

"Yesterday was not one of his allotted ‘free days’, Knox. Dispatch would have alerted me if he’d left the premises of his shop…and even had it been one of his free days, he is not permitted to travel far from his residence—certainly not to our realm without an escort."

Ronald started to relax a bit. “Oh, right! So it _couldn’t_ have been him that attacked me!”

"One would think," said William cautiously. "But there have been glitches with his tracking collar before, as you may recall. It’s equally possible that he found a way to tamper with it, so as not to alert us. Whether he is consciously aware of it or not, we shouldn’t assume that writing mischievous notes to himself is the extent of his involvement in what’s been happening. This matter must be looked into, one way or the other."

"Well, how about I find a way t’ test his collar?" reasoned the blond. "Maybe I can get him to step outside for a minute, and that way you’ll know if it’s still working right."

"And how do you intend to do that?" Questioned William. "I doubt you could budge the man on your own if he does not wish to move."

Ronald shrugged. “I’ll think of something. Even if I’ve gotta fib a little and tell him I got him an extra free day. I hate the thought of lying to him, but if that’s what I’ve got to do so we’ll know if the collar’s working, then that’s what I’ll do.”

"It’s a dangerous gamble you wish to take, Ronald. Whether the note was a simple case of sleepwalking or whether the Undertaker suffers from a case of possession or schizophrenia, you risk him turning on you."

"He’s not gonna do that," Ronald insisted. "He would have done it this morning, if that was going to happen. Please boss, just let me do this, and you can call me as soon as you get confirmation that the collar’s working. Once that happens, I’ll tell him what happened this morning and try t’ convince him to come in and get looked at."

William sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I will allow this, but only if there are fellow Dispatch agents nearby to back you up, should things go wrong. Is that clear, mister Knox?”

"Crystal," agreed Ronald. "I’ll ask Grell and Eric to be my backup, and they can wait down the block while I go there after work."

While he still had reservations about this plan, William nodded in agreement. If there were a way to get to the bottom of this without a confrontation with the legendary reaper, he would take it.

* * *

 

Undertaker was quite pleased when his young lover came to his shop later that afternoon, bringing with him a bottle of wine. He smiled as he let Ronald in, and he leaned over to give him a hello kiss. “What’s this you’ve brought me, love? Trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me?”

"Do I really have to get you drunk to do that?" teased the younger reaper after returning his kiss. "I just passed a bottle shop on my way here and I thought you might like some red. But hey, guess what? We don’t have to eat in tonight if ya don’t want to."

Undertaker’s brows went up. “Eh? My next free day to go out isn’t ‘till tomorrow, though.”

"Knoxy pulled some strings for ya," said Ronald with a wink. "I got you an extra day, so how about it? Let me take you somewhere nice, to make up for having to take off on you this morning."

"Ah, you don’t have t’ fuss about that," assured the mortician with a wave of his pale hand. "I used to be in Dispatch too, remember? I know what it’s like to have to be available at a moment’s notice. No harm done."

"But I still feel bad about it," insisted Ronald, "and you cooked last time, so let me treat ya tonight." He set the bottle of wine down on a nearby coffin lid, and he put his arms around the ancient’s slim waist and kissed the scar on his throat. "Come on, ‘Taker. Let me do this for you, hmm?"

The older reaper’s arms went around Ronald in return, and he hummed in pleasure as the blond coaxingly kissed his neck. “Hmm, you’re really tempting me,” he admitted with a sigh, his accent changing as Ronald’s seductive actions tickled his senses. Ronald’s attentions moved to his earlobe and the Undertaker purred as his teeth nibbled the sensitive area. He chuckled helplessly and blushed as the younger reaper blew into his ear, a thrill racing through him.

"Come on," coaxed Ronald. He ran his hands over the mortician’s shoulders and chest, and then he took his hands in his and started moving backwards toward the door, drawing Undertaker with him. "What’s it gonna hurt?"

Undertaker grinned. “Persistent, aren’t you? Oh, all right…you’ve talked me into it. I’ll just grab my hat and we can be on our way.”

Ronald nodded and he watched as the mortician retrieved his hat from the rack near the door. They stepped outside together, and Undertaker squinted against the early evening sunlight. He tugged the brim of his hat down to shade his eyes, and he glanced down the street. “So, where do y’ want to go?” he asked, slipping back into the British accent.

"Uh." Ronald scratched his chin. "You know, I haven’t really thought of it. Just figured it would be a nice thing to do. How about that place down the block on the corner? I think it’s a French joint."

Undertaker nodded. “That’d be good. I’m not too fussy, long as there’s good food involved.”

"Cool." Ronald started off, falling into step with the taller man. His phone went off and he quickly dug it out of his pocket to answer it. "Knox, here. Yeah boss, we’re heading out to eat now. Oh yeah? Well that’s good. Um, no…it’s fine. I’ll let you know. Okay, by sir."

He put his phone away and sighed, looking at his ghostly companion. “Well, that was my boss. He was just checking on something.”

"You aren’t being called in again, are you?" The Undertaker tried to hide his disappointment at the possibility. It had been a lonely day for him, and he’d woken up with an odd feeling of dread that he couldn’t explain. He hadn’t found anything suggesting his mystery stalker had come around again, but he still felt like he was being watched all day. Spending more time with Ronald was a comforting notion to him, and he even entertained thoughts of more intimacy later. Maybe this time he’d take on the role of the giver, rather than the receiver.

"No, nothing like that," assured Ronald with a curiously relieved smile. "I’m all yours tonight, sexy. The boss was just confirming something else work related, is all."

Undertaker relaxed, happy to hear his Knox time wouldn’t be interrupted. His stomach rumbled and he chuckled, patting it. “Well that’s a good thing, ‘cause my gut’s complaining for food now.” He nearly put an arm around the younger man, but such a thing was ill advised in the mortal realm. Humans still had a ways to go before they would be accepting of same gender romance, after all.

* * *

 

Ronald felt some relief after getting that call from William. The tracking collar went off as normal when he and Undertaker left the shop, and William assured him that he would take care of things so that nobody went after the mortician. That one confirmation at least proved to Ronald that Undertaker wasn’t the one that attacked him the day before. He thought about it as they waited to be seated at the restaurant. The person that had come at him in the parking lot had been wearing a hooded robe identical to the Undertaker’s, but Ronald hadn’t seen any wisps of white hair sticking out of it. All he’d seen Undertaker do was write that note to himself in his sleep, and while he’d acted really spooky, he hadn’t been aggressive.

_~So what does that mean? Did all this mess trigger some kind of subconscious guilt bomb? Is Spears-senpai right, and he just wrote the note in his sleep because he’s stressed out?~_

The host came to show them to their seats, and for a moment Ronald worried they might get turned away, because Undertaker was in his usual funeral director garb and the man was staring at him warily. He hadn’t thought to check if there was a dress code for this place. Luckily, the host said nothing and asked them to follow him. He showed them to a table in the far corner of the dining area, evidently wishing to keep them far away from other customers so as not to spook them. Ronald shrugged it off. A private corner was better for him anyways, because he needed to talk to ‘Taker about what happened early that morning.

"Bring us some glasses for this and some water," Ronald instructed the waitress that came to them as he set the bottle of red wine he’d brought with them on the table.

"Of course," she agreed in a softly accented voice, her gaze flicking to Undertaker somewhat nervously. "Would you care for hors d’oeuvres, gentleman?"

Ron shrugged and looked at the menu. “Um…what do you think, ‘Taker? See anything you want? Don’t say snails, man. I won’t even go there.”

Undertaker chuckled and looked over the appetizer menu, removing his hat to place it on the empty seat adjacent to him. He brushed his bangs aside to peer at the menu. “Hmm…the porcini mushroom tartlets looks interesting. Let’s try those.”

"Oui, monsieur. I shall place that order as I collect your glasses and water, and I shall take the rest of your order when I return."

She hurried off to do just that, and Ronald started to say something to his companion, trying to figure out how to put it. His phone buzzed and he sighed and pulled it out. He had a text from Grell asking him what in the hell was going on. With a grimace of annoyance, Ronald texted back that everything was fine and he would let him know what was going on later, when he had something useful to report. The waitress returned with the glasses and a pitcher of cool water, and she informed them the appetizer would be out shortly. Ronald picked out something he couldn’t even pronounce for himself, and Undertaker selected the mussels with a side of onion soup.

"Okay, so I wanted to talk to you about something," Ronnie said when she left again to put in the order for their second course. He watched the older reaper closely, hesitating as Undertaker sipped his wine and looked at him inquisitively. "Are you okay, ‘Taker? I mean, have you been feeling a bit…off?"

The ancient tilted his head, and a beam of orange light from the setting sun came through the little window behind him and illuminated him from behind. Ronald swallowed, thinking he looked positively angelic. Those eyes…Ron could never seem to look away from them. “How would you define feeling ‘off’, love?”

It took Ronald a moment to comprehend his words, because he was so entranced by how blasted stunning Undertaker was. “Er…not yourself? I know you’ve been through a lot of stress, but has anything else been happening that you haven’t mentioned t’ me?”

The Undertaker’s faint smile dropped, and his snowy lashes concealed his bright gaze as he lowered his eyes. “Why would you ask such a question, Ronnie?”

Sensing that he was suddenly guarded, Ronald sighed. He didn’t want to come off as accusing, and he feared the man might try to deny it if he told him what he’d seen without proof. Regretfully, he reached into his pocket and retrieved the piece of stationary he’d brought to work with him. He put it on the table and slid it over to Undertaker, wincing inwardly as the mortician stiffened upon seeing it.

"Where did you get _that_?” breathed the Undertaker, not moving.

"In the kitchen this morning," answered Ronald, "just before I left. You wrote it."

The mortician’s brows furrowed in confusion and his gaze lifted from the slip of paper to Ronald. His bangs had shifted, partially concealing his eyes again. “Bollocks. I did no such thing.”

Seeing the way his pale hand trembled on the table-top, Ronald shot a glance around before reaching out to lay his own hand on top of it. He spoke in a low voice, doing his best to sound concerned without sounding fearful or accusatory. “You were asleep, ‘Taker. Something woke me up, and I found ya standing by the bed. Then you put on a robe and walked out, so I followed you ‘cause I was afraid you’d go wandering out in the street or something. I saw ya write the note and put it on the counter, and then…”

He hesitated again, wondering if he should even mention the chilling smile Undertaker had given him before heading back to bed.

"And then what?" demanded the mortician. His face seemed frozen—expressionless.

Ronald shrugged, trying to play it down as just a weird moment. “You smiled at me, but it didn’t seem like _your_ smile at all. Least not the ones I’ve gotten used t’ getting from you. It was kind of creepy, but you didn’t do anything else. You just walked back into the bedroom, took your robe off and got back into bed. I nudged you awake and ya didn’t seem to remember any of it…so I took the note when I left ‘cause I didn’t want you to get freaked out.”

Ronald saw the waitress returning with their hors d’oeuvre and he released the older reaper’s hand and sat back, trying to look casual. She set the plate down between the two of them, followed by two smaller plates so that they could share. Ronald thanked her since Undertaker was apparently too stunned to speak at the moment, and he dismissed her so they could eat and keep chatting.

"It’s your handwriting, isn’t it?" persisted the agent with a nod at the stationary.

Undertaker looked back down at the note, and his brows furrowed. “Well…in a way, I s’pose. It’s a bit cleaner than mine, but…the style is…” He shook his head and had another swallow of wine. “You’re not fibbing to me, are you?”

Ronald shook his head, entirely serious. “No way. You know me better by now. That’d be a piss-poor prank to play on you—especially since we’re dating! Maybe I should have told ya right away, but…I was really worried. Needed to clear my head and think about it, ‘cause you’ve been through enough and I didn’t want to shock you, first thing in the morning. I was…trying to protect you.”

The mortician smirked. “So instead, you decided to take me out to a nice dinner and shock me here in the restaurant.”

Ronald grimaced again and reached for his wine. “I didn’t claim it was a perfect plan. Just thought it might be easier to take over dinner, is all.”

Undertaker nodded slowly. “Mm-hmm. In a public setting. Just in case I go off my rocker and try something, eh?”

Ronald sighed. “This is all going wrong. That isn’t what I meant at all, but maybe some part o’ me was worried about that. You could wipe the floor with me if you wanted to and I still respect that.” He shrugged and sipped his wine. “Since I’m not sure what’s going on with you, can you blame me? I asked you the other day if anything was wrong ‘cause you were acting a bit off, but you said you were fine. If ya don’t talk to me, how am I s’posed to know what’s going on?”

Undertaker’s expression softened, and he heaved a sigh of his own. He absently reached for one of the tarts and he popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully with his chin propped in one palm. “I can see your point. Sorry m’dear, but my excuse is the same as yours. Didn’t want you to worry.”

Ronald could accept that. “So that note you found in your garden the other day…I’m thinking maybe you wrote that one, too.”

Undertaker shrugged. “Possibly.” He frowned and took a sip of water to freshen his pallet. “Ronnie, you mentioned the bloke that attacked you was wearing a robe with a hood.”

The younger reaper nodded. “That’s what Eric said. I didn’t get a look at him before he clobbered me.” Recalling the chill he got when he saw the mortician don the hooded robe, he frowned too and he shook his head. “I think I know what you’re thinking, ‘Taker, and don’t. It wasn’t you.”

"I sleep odd hours," muttered the ancient. "Conduct most of my business at night or in the wee hours, when you aren’t visiting. If I’ve been moving about in my sleep—"

"Your tracking collar would have gone off," interrupted Ronald with a shake of his head, "and I know it’s working right, because…ah, hell. I might as well confess and get it over with. Undertaker, this dinner date wasn’t just to get ya out for a while and talk to you about all this. I set it up with my boss to test your collar, ‘cause I wanted to be sure it wasn’t you, before I had this talk with you. That call I got from him while we were on our way out was to let me know the collar’s still working. We had to be sure, ‘cause if you’re going around clobbering people in your sleep…uh…well…"

He grimaced, reluctant to bring up the possibility that they’d been considering.

Undertaker picked up on what he was suggesting. “Then I might have killed Fluffy, too? Thought _did_ cross my mind too, love.”

"But I don’t think you did," insisted Ronald. "I think the worst you’ve done is prank yourself…maybe ‘cause you’re so worried about history repeating itself. I…kind of wonder if you’re trying t’ scare yourself out of seeing me anymore, on some level."

"Ronnie," sighed the mortician. He started to say something, but he hesitated. Ronald could practically see the gears turning in his head as he thought it over.

"You’re thinking the same thing, aren’t ya?" Pressed the agent.

The mortician bowed his head, tapping his long black nails on the surface of the table. A humorless chuckle passed his pale lips and he reached for his wine glass. “It’d be just like me t’ foil something I haven’t had in such a long time, lad. Problem is, if I’m not doing all these shenanigans myself, then who’s responsible for the rest? _Someone_ killed my bunny, and someone attacked you in the parking lot—wearing robes like mine, according to you.”

Ronald nodded. “But I don’t think it was you,” he reiterated.

The ancient’s bright gaze flicked to him as he raised his head, and he shook his bangs aside to stare Ronald in the eye. “You don’t _think_ it was me, but how sure are you of that? Mayhap the collar’s working now, but it could have gone wonky yesterday while I was having a rest…long enough for me to slip out and come pay you a visit.”

Ronald swallowed. “Is that what you really think? You think you’d hurt me?”

The mortician kept gazing at him, uncommonly moody. Ronald couldn’t blame him for that under the circumstances, but he didn’t like the dread he could see churning behind those ancient eyes. He reached out to take his lover’s free hand, unmindful this time of whether any of the other diners saw.

"Well I won’t believe it ‘till I see it with my own eyes," murmured the blond in determination. "You didn’t try to hurt me this morning when you sleep-walked, and I don’t believe you’d somehow find a way to turn off your collar, cross over to the reaper world without attracting any attention and club me just for the hell of it. Something else is going on and your little notes are just a symptom of it, ‘cause it’s all getting to you."

Undertaker looked down at the hand resting over his, the slight tan on it contrasting with his ivory pallor. “I don’t know, love. Either way, you’ve already gotten hurt twice ‘cause of me since we got involved.”

"Okay, the first time was some asshole demon and that had nothing to do with you or your stalker—unless he’s the one that set all this up as revenge on you. Hey, now that you mention it, that might be it! You said you knew the guy and his mistress, and you ran ‘em out of town after he attacked me. Just because we didn’t pick up any demon aura lingering in your yard doesn’t mean he couldn’t have made a deal with someone to come and do it just to fuck with you, right? The same guy could have been the one that sucker-punched me in the parking lot."

"And how many times have you seen reapers and demons making deals with each other, Ronnie? I mean aside from a few odd exceptions with Mr. Michaelis when the young earl wishes it?"

Ronald picked up another tartlet and examined it. “All right, so it’s not the most common thing in the world—but it can still happen if both parties could gain something out of it, right? I mean, even my _boss_ has cooperated with that raven demon before, and he can’t stand their kind. All I know is I can’t believe you’d kill Fluffy or hurt me.”

"Not on purpose," agreed the mortician. He also selected another tartlet and he ate it and washed it down with some water. The waitress came back with their second course, and the Undertaker pushed aside his small plate to give her room to set down the platter of mussels and bowl of soup. "Thanks, darlin’."

She smiled at him a little nervously, and then she set down Ronald’s duck entree. Then she refilled their pitcher of water and asked if they needed anything else, before taking her leave again. Ronald poked at his food curiously before taking a bite of it. Finding it to his liking, he regarded his date again. “Know what I think? I think you’re stronger than that, ‘Taker. I don’t think you’d let your subconscious rule you that much. A note here and there ‘cause you’re conflicted is one thing, but someone else is behind the rest. Just gotta find out who and lay down the law on them.”

He bit his lip and looked at the mortician with trepidation. “Unless…well, if you’re _really_ that worried about it, maybe you ought t’ come in to Dispatch with me tomorrow. They could set you up for monitoring in a secured place, and if anything else happens around your place while you’re away, we’ll know for sure it’s not you doing it.”

Undertaker paused in the middle of scooping a mussel out of its shell. He stared at Ronald for a long moment, and the blond resisted the urge to squirm in his seat. “Was this your plan all along? To get me into custody?”

Having already anticipated and dreaded such an accusation, Ronald quickly shook his head. “No way, beautiful. Last thing I want is for you and Dispatch to have another confrontation. The only plan I had was to let you know what you did this morning and rule out the chance it might have been you in the parking lot. Spears wanted to bring you in but I begged him to let me talk t’ you first and find out what’s going on. I’m just suggesting it ‘cause it might give you peace of mind and help us get closer to figuring out what’s really going on, okay? I’ll totally support you if you don’t wanna do it.”

He fully expected the man to outright refuse, but instead, Undertaker seemed to be seriously considering it. “Let’s finish our dinner and spend a bit of time together. I’ll think on it.”

Ronald shrugged. “That’s cool. I just want you to know I’m on your side.”

The mortician finally gave him one of those gentler, affectionate smiles, and Ronald felt better for the first time since that morning.

* * *

 

After their meal, the couple returned to Undertaker’s shop. Conversation was subdued between them as they strolled back together, both of them swimming in thoughts of what the future might bring and how they were going to fix this mess. After unlocking the door to let them in, Undertaker locked up behind him and they went into his living quarters. He gestured at the couch in the parlor in offering.

"Why not have a sit-down while I go and gather some fresh herbs from my garden for a spot of tea?"

Ronald started to do just that, but then he stopped and smiled at the ancient. “Ya know, I’ve never tried any gardening myself. Why don’t I come with you to help?”

A part of him was afraid the mortician might find another creepy note from himself, and he wanted to be there with him if that happened.

Undertaker looked at him with visible surprise. “Never picked you as a fellow that would like that, Dormouse. Right then, if you’d like t’ learn a few things, I s’pose there’s no harm in it. Come along.”

Ronald followed him through the house to the back door and he waited as Undertaker unlocked it. They stepped outside into the back yard together, and as they approached his herb garden, the mortician suddenly stopped so abruptly that Ronald ran into him from behind.

"Damn, warn me next time," griped Knox. Undertaker wasn’t moving. Curious and a little anxious all the sudden, Ronald peeked around the taller man’s body to see what had made him halt his approach so suddenly. His eyes widened and he cursed softly. Lying in the middle of Undertaker’s garden was a body—obviously a dead one. Male, approximately in his early twenties with feathered blond hair, he bore an eerie resemblance to Ronald. He was shirtless and someone had carved a word into his chest.

_"Not yours."_

Ronald manifested his death scythe and stepped between Undertaker and the body, keeping a sharp eye out for danger. Behind him, he could hear the ancient draw a sharp breath, and then he spoke in a low voice.

"My, my. That wasn’t there earlier."

* * *

 

-To be continued


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

"Well Ronnie, I think we can rule out me having anything to do with this one."

Ronald wholeheartedly agreed, but Dispatch would have questions and he knew it. Usually they had agents keeping an eye on the place, but he was certain he would have heard something by now if they’d reported seeing anything. They must have followed him and Undertaker when they left, rather than staying to watch over his property.

"Bloody hell," he gritted out, digging for his phone as he kept one hand on his mower’s handle. "I’ve got to call this in. ‘Taker, don’t move the body or touch it, okay?"

Nodding absently, the mortician approached the corpse with his usual eerie grace. He gazed down on it with his head tilted in thought. “Looks t’ me like this poor sod’s been dead for less than an hour, love. I can’t be certain without an autopsy, though. Fellow looks…familiar.”

"Just come away from it," Ronald insisted. He was nearly as pale as his lover as he hastily looked up Grell on his contact list. Great…now this psycho was going out killing mortals that bore a resemblance to him. That wasn’t going to go over well with the Undertaker at all. Keeping a concerned eye on the mortician, Ronald brought the phone to his ear and he bounced a little in place as he waited for his former mentor to pick up.

"Ronnie! I’ve been waiting for over an hour! Now, tell me what’s going on, darling! Are we bringing the old coot in or aren’t we?"

"We’ve got bigger things to worry about, Senpai." Ronald grimaced as he looked at the corpse again. "Me an’ Undertaker just got back from dinner and there’s a fresh corpse in his garden. Best get over here quick and call the boss."

"Hmm…intriguing," answered Grell. "Very well, Mustard Seed. Eric and I shall be there soon. Keep a sharp eye on that dusty bounder you’re so smitten with in the meantime, and don’t let him fiddle with the body!"

Ronald grimaced at his mentor’s word usage. “Could ya stop sayin’ things like that? Just come.”

He didn’t wait for Grell’s response but contrary to his expressed frustration with the insults that Grell kept tossing at his lover, Ronald did keep close to the mortician. He purposely circled around in front of him to block his view of the body, and he forced a little smile.

"Well look on the bright side; this is evidence that _you_ didn’t kill the bunny.”

Undertaker seemed dazed, and it took him a moment to respond. “Fair enough. That still leaves us with me writing myself obscure notes, Ronnie.” His eyes flicked past the blond to settle on the corpse again. “Who’s to say for certain?”

Ronald thought about that for a moment, wondering if that was really the case. The theory that Undertaker had done it because of some subconscious guilt over dating him was one possibility, but what if it was triggered by something else? Guilt over failing to save his rabbit, maybe…or just plain anger towards whoever had done it. People had all sorts of weird ways of coping with trauma, and the Undertaker had seen more in his long life than most reapers could scarcely imagine.

"Hey, look at me," demanded Ronald, reaching up to cup the mortician’s pale, scarred face in his hands. He brushed aside Undertaker’s bangs so that he could see his eyes. "You were _with me_ when this bloke was killed. You said so yourself; the time of death happened while we were out together. Know what I think?”

"Do tell." Undertaker smirked, but there was no humor in his timeless gaze.

"I think maybe those notes weren’t meant for _you_ , but for whoever killed your rabbit.” Ronald held his gaze, completely sincere. “Suppose part of you just couldn’t deal, and that’s the part that got up in the night and wrote those notes? You said you found the first one in your garden, right? Well, what if you put it out there as a warning or a threat in case whoever did it decided to come slinking around again? There’s only been two notes, right?”

The ancient nodded, a tiny furrow appearing between his thin white brows. “True. The first one saying: ‘ _I saw what you did_ ' and the next you showed me tonight. Tell me something though Ronald; why would I put the second note in the kitchen? Did my subconscious mind think he planned on stealing food next?”

He chuckled at that, but there was a faintly broken undertone to it that made Ronald want to just…hold him. Shaking off the powerful effect this reaper’s angst had on him, Ronald shook his head. “Dunno. Maybe you didn’t make it out the door ‘cause I was standing there. Maybe you thought he’d try to bust into your house next. All I know is I’m sure you didn’t kill Fluffy or that poor bastard lying there behind me. Whatever the reason you wrote those notes, I don’t think you’re doing this to yourself. Someone else is behind it, ‘Taker, and we’ll find out who.”

"Oi, Ronnie," called a familiar voice with a Scottish brogue.

Ronald looked in the direction it had come from and he saw Eric and Grell standing on the other side of the iron fencing surrounding Undertaker’s back yard. He waved and motioned for them to come over, and the two of them leaped nimbly over the fence to join them. Grell was the first to approach the body, humming with interest as he inspected it.

"Oh, how interesting. Eric, doesn’t this fellow look like our Knoxie to you? Come and see! His hair is all one color and he is mortal, of course, but the similarities are—"

"I see," interrupted Eric with a grimace. He spoke again in a low, warning voice. "Stop goin’ on about it. I’m sure they’ve noticed it too, Grell."

"Well I think it’s something important to take note of," insisted the crimson reaper, planting his hands on his slender hips. "The message isn’t exactly vague, is it? Unnie has a stalker and they aren’t taking too kindly to finding out he has a hot young thing like Ronald sharing his bed."

"We dun’ know tha’ fer certain yet," argued the Scotsman with a wary glance Undertaker’s way.

"But it makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?" Grell smiled and twirled. "Someone is obsessed with the spooky old fellow, and perhaps they _have_ been for a long time…just watching him from afar with longing. Oh, I can relate to that! But just imagine this stalker spying on him for a good while, and then Ronnie comes along and he or she snaps. Why else would they choose a mortal that so resembles Knox?”

Grell sidled up to the Undertaker, ignoring Ronald’s warning look. He peered at the mortician and he batted his eyelashes. “Not that I could truly blame them, you see. As much as I still loathe you for what you did to me on the Campania, I can admit that you have a truly angelic countenance beneath that hair and those scars. Why, had it not been for your mistreatment of me, I might have even considered—”

"Grell Sutcliff, that is enough."

William T. Spears stepped out of the portal he’d created in the yard, and he adjusted his glasses as he approached with a cold expression on his face. “You are making a spectacle of yourself again.”

The redhead grinned slyly at him. “Jealous, Willy? Have you plans to punish a lady tonight?”

"I have plans to investigate this matter as a professional," replied the supervisor sternly. "As should you. Now, where is the body?"

"Righ’ here, boss," Eric called out. "Nobody’s touched or moved it."

William nodded and approached, retrieving his journal. “Timothy Hutton,” he read as he stood over the corpse. “His name just made it onto the death list. Tortured and killed by an unknown party.”

He frowned down at the corpse, and then he tucked his journal away and held out a hand expectantly. “Knox, bring me the note from this morning.”

Ronald winced a little, cast an uncomfortable look at the Undertaker and then complied. William took it and his gaze flicked from the slip of paper to the words scrawled on the unfortunate mortal’s chest. “Hmm, not remotely alike. The scrawl on this note was written by a different hand than the one that carved these words into this man.”

"Ya sound pretty sure o’ tha’," observed Eric in a whisper.

"I am," assured William. "For one thing, the penmanship on the body is much better than that which was written on this note. Undertaker, if you please…would you come forward and look at this body again?"

The mortician did so, staring down at it with a sort of reluctant fascination. William spoke softly, his eyes on the Undertaker. “Do you recognize that handwriting at all, sir?”     

"I…can’t be sure," confessed Undertaker, his gaze never straying from the bloody marks. "Seems familiar, but my memory can be a bit dodgy."

"I see." William’s stoic mask slipped a bit and he looked troubled. "Sir, I have a proposal for you…one that I am reluctant to give, but for your own safety, I must insist upon it."

The ancient’s expression hardened. “You expect me to turn myself in to Dispatch’s custody, yeah?”

"This would not be an arrest, per say," explained William hastily, "but for observation purposes. Nobody respects your abilities more than myself, but you must understand that you are no longer safe here, alone. What if the person behind all this catches you wandering around in your sleep? You would be essentially defenseless in that state, and there is no telling what they might do to you. Dispatch can set up guarded accommodation for you until this case is solved; to be certain you don’t harm yourself…or others…in your sleep."

"Sounds like a prison sentence to me, chap."

Ronald intervened. “Wait, he could come to my place and stay with me. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Eric frowned at the younger blond. “I dun’ think tha’s such a good idea, Ronnie. No’ after wha’ ye’ve told us. He might attack ya in his sleep.”

"He’s had the chance to do that twice already and he hasn’t," reminded Knox. He turned to William, who also looked troubled by his request. "Please, boss. Assign me as his guardian ‘till this is all over."

"Then why not just leave the old man here and come stay with him?" questioned Grell.

"Because that still puts the Undertaker in danger from his stalker, and it also opens up Mr. Knox to greater threat as well," explained William. He pointed at the dead body with his scythe. "We have all noticed a resemblance between this victim and Ronald. If the culprit has developed a grudge against Ronald, than it stands to reason that he has become a target."

"And we know it’s not ‘Taker that killed that guy, so I’m safe with him," persisted Ronald.

William looked at the body again. “Before we make any decisions concerning this, I believe we should review this man’s records and find out what we can about the details of his death. If a demon was somehow responsible, it would not have been able to manipulate the cinematic records to conceal its actions from us…and I only know of one reaper who can do such a thing.” His gaze flicked back to Undertaker briefly, and the mortician shrugged.

"Be my guest," he invited, just as curious to find out what really happened as they were.

Ronald came up beside his lover and he slipped a supportive hand into his as William made the cut to view and collect the reels. They watched the victim leaving a party of some sort, seen from his point of view. He was stumbling a bit as he walked down the lamp-lit London streets, evidently a bit in his cups. Footsteps could be heard coming up behind him, but the fellow was too tipsy to pay attention to it until they got close enough to provoke him to turn and look. A hooded and cloaked figure was coming up behind him. Nothing could be seen of the man’s shadowed face except his mouth and chin. Wisps of brown hair peaked out from under the hood, but nothing more discernable than a pair of reflective Shinigami eyes peering out from the depths to identify the culprit as a reaper.

The young man asked who they were and what they wanted as the hooded stranger approached him, and he reached for a knife he kept on his person for self defense. It did him no good. Faster than the human eye could follow, the hooded one closed in on him and kicked the knife out of the young man’s hand. The victim started to cry out, but then his vision was blocked by a cloth of some sort. Everything faded to black, and the reel reached its end.

"Chloroform, I’d wager," muttered the Undertaker. "He knocked him out with that before carving him up and leaving him t’ bleed out. Fellow was probably gone before he knew he was bleeding."

Ronald glanced at him. “So you’re not worried it might have been you anymore?”

A brief frown tugged at the mortician’s pale lips, and he shook his head. “No. The killer’s built heavier than me and he’s a tad shorter.” There was relief in his voice, and Ronald felt another surge of pity for him.

"Well that settles it," said William. Relief was evident in his voice as well. "Undertaker, I am afraid I must insist that you come over to our side with us when we take our leave. Though Knox has been officially pulled off of this case due to his personal involvement with you, I see no harm in allowing him to take you to his flat for a while. I strongly believe that the culprit is a reaper, considering he was able to cross over to our realm and go after Ronald in the parking lot. Dispatch security will be alerted and I feel we would have a better chance at catching this lunatic in the reaper realm."

"Wha’ makes yeh think tha’, boss?" questioned Eric. "Plenty o’ places fer tha suspect tae hide on our side, too."

"Yes, but we have security cameras monitoring headquarters," reminded William. "If the culprit was bold enough before to attack Mr. Knox in his own place of business, then it stands to reason he will be bold enough to do so again. Even if there is more than one suspect involved in this, we stand a better chance of capturing them if they follow the Undertaker and Ronald over to our side. A lure would be the perfect opportunity."

"Great," sighed Ronald, "so I guess I’m the cheese in the mousetrap, now."

"If you have a better idea," murmured William distractedly as he jotted something down in his report book, "feel free to present it to us."

Ronald shrugged. “I’m tapped out of ideas, sir. Well, ‘Taker? What do you think of the plan? Want to come stay at Fort Knox for a couple weeks? My place isn’t big but there’s plenty of room for two, and you can watch TV while I’m at work if ya get bored.”

The Undertaker regarded him quietly for a moment, and then he looked down at the body. He hesitated, uncommonly somber. “Can’t say as I’m too fond of the idea of you being bate, Ronnie, but this bloke’s been tenacious and even trickier than me. I s’pose for the sake of catching the slippery bugger and keeping the body count down, I can put up with a little time on the other side.”

Ronald smiled at him. “Great! Then why don’t you go ahead and pack and get everything in order while we finish up with this guy.”

William nodded in agreement, and he retrieved his mobile phone from his pocket. “I shall contact Dispatch and inform them of this development, so that they do not send agents out when you leave the premises. Mr. Slingby, please contact Scotland Yard and report the body. Sutcliff, remain here with Knox and escort him and the Undertaker to his flat whenever they are ready. I will return to headquarters and give my report after I have informed the board of the Undertaker’s temporary change of location.”

* * *

 

Ronald looked somewhat embarrassed as he and the Undertaker stepped into his small flat, roughly an hour later. The blond leaned the suitcase he’d been carrying for his lover against the wall, and then he took the one Undertaker was wheeling in from him and put it beside the first.

"Like I said, it’s not much but it’s got all the basic comforts," he excused as the mortician looked around at the clutter with interest. "Sorry for the way it looks. I haven’t had time to tidy up any." He stuck his hands in his pockets and grimaced a little.

Undertaker shook his head and smiled at the younger reaper. “It’s fine, Ronnie. I’ve seen smaller and messier homes…trust me.” His “mortician” accent had faded now that they were alone together, and he spoke in the dulcet voice that Ronald so seemed to enjoy. It wasn’t all that bad, really. The living room and kitchen weren’t separated by any walls or doors, and Undertaker guessed that two of the three doors he saw led to the bathroom and bedroom. The other was probably a linen closet. There was clutter, but the place wasn’t dirty, per say.

Ronald began to gather up scattered mail from the coffee table, along with a used cup and glass. He cleared off the hastily thrown dirty clothes from the couch and he nodded at it. “Here, take a load off while I get some of this mess cleaned up. The television remote’s on the coffee table if ya want t’ watch anything. There’s not much on but soaps this time of day, though.”

With a shrug, the ancient removed his hat and sat down on the reddish-orange, plush couch. He wasn’t a fan of the color, but it was very comfortable. “My, my,” he muttered, bouncing a little on the cushion. “Quite cushy on the tushy.”

Ronald shot a grin over his shoulder at him as he carried the clothes to the laundry basket in the bedroom. “Yup. Eric’s always telling me it’s puke colored, but he sprawls on it like everyone else when he comes visiting. I sleep on it instead of in my bed half the time. It’s real easy to pass out on, so don’t worry if you doze off.”

Undertaker reached for the device that operated the telly, and he stared at the buttons. He fiddled with it while Ronald went about the apartment tidying it up. Having lived in the less advanced mortal realm for so long, the mortician wasn’t that familiar with televisions or any of the other latest advances in reaper technology. He figured out that the “on” button powered up the television, but he didn’t understand what the “ch” buttons were for. He accidentally turned the volume up far too much in his attempt to surf through the channels, and Ronald hastened over to take the remote from him and show him how to operate it.

"Those are the volume buttons," he explained. "These here are the channel changing buttons, but you can just enter a number if you know what channel y’ want to go to. I’ve got some movies in the cabinet the TV’s sitting on too, if you want to look through ‘em and put one on. I can show you how to work the disc player after I’ve finished up with this."

Undertaker took the offered remote back with a little grin. “I wouldn’t know what pictures would strike my fancy, Ronnie. I haven’t seen a moving picture in some time.”

"I’m betting you’d like some kind of comedy or a horror flick," surmised Ronald. "But for now just play around with it and see if anything on air jumps out at you." He bent over the mortician to give him a kiss on the mouth, before resuming clean-up duty.

Undertaker flicked through the channels, fascinated by this piece of technology that modern reapers seemed to take for granted. Fortunately the television was close enough for him to make out what was on the screen well enough, though it was blurry. He watched a few moments of a soap opera before flipping to the next channel, and then he sat through a few commercials, giggling at the one with the animated rabbit advertising fabric softener. His amusement faded as the commercial reminded him of Fluffy, and he flicked to the next channel. There was a news broadcast on this one, and his brows went up with surprise. The reporters were talking about him.

_"Well, we’ve all heard of Legendary Death; the former Dispatch agent who is rumored to be one of the first death gods. Reports are coming in that he’s been living in this mortuary seen here in this photo. Hanna, what do you think of the rumors circulating that this fallen reaper was experimenting on the dead?"_

_"I say it’s really no surprise, Nathan. If the rumors are true, then it makes perfect sense to me that a reaper that would exile himself to the mortal realm for so long would eventually crack. Have there been any witnesses to these allegations?"_

Undertaker leaned back on the couch and crossed his legs, teeth flashing in a grin of irony as the male reporter responded. Ronald came out of the bedroom with a frown, having overheard some of the news report.

_"Well so far, there hasn’t been any evidence reported to support these rumors, Hanna. If it’s true, then Dispatch has been keeping a tight lid on it. Word’s been leaked that Death’s on some form of probation though, and rumor had it that he’s in a relationship with a young dispatch agent—"_

Ronald abruptly turned the television off at its source, and the Undertaker gave him a puzzled look. “What’d you do that for, love?”

"Because I don’t want to listen to gossip about you," answered Ronald, "and neither should you! They don’t know jack shit about what’s going on and it’s none of their bloody business who you date or why."

Undertaker spread his hands. “I’d agree with you, but it’s really harmless. People have been speculating about me for years. I’ve gotten used to it.”

"Well I haven’t." Ronald sighed and took a seat beside him, resting a hand on the ancient’s knee familiarly. "Call me over protective but I don’t like hearing people talk about my boyfriend…’specially on the live news. Those wankers need to get a life."

The mortician chuckled and put an arm around him. “You need to grow thicker skin if you’re going to be involved with me, Ronnie. Words are just words, and as long as _you_ know the truth of it, I don’t much care what others think.”

"I wish I could say the same," answered Ronald with a disgruntled look. "I’ll try not to let it get to me, though."

Undertaker caressed the younger man’s face, his nails gliding over Ronald’s cheeks and jaw. “And that’s all I can ask you to do, my dear. Mayhap it’s time for a distraction, yeah?” 

"What kind of—" Ronald started to ask, only to have his question cut off with a kiss. He smiled against the silken lips pressed against his and he shut his eyes, parting his lips to allow the older reaper entry to his mouth.

Undertaker took the invitation, sliding his tongue in to caress Ronald’s. He retracted his fingernails and he began to flick open the buttons on the younger man’s shirt, eager to see and touch more of him again. Their single encounter had been on his mind a lot, and he was feeling confident enough to initiate another one. Ronald’s faith in him and his determination to do whatever it took to keep him safe was endearing, and though he was hardly the damsel in distress, the blond’s devotion was a touching, refreshing change from the sort of treatment Undertaker was used to getting from others.

He slipped his hand into Ronald’s shirt as soon as he could part the material, fingers gliding sensually over the boy’s chest. Ronald hummed in pleasure and put his arms around him, sucking on his probing tongue. Further excited by the response, the ancient worked a few more buttons open and his explorations migrated lower. He traced Ronald’s belly-button, before unbuckling his belt and popping the button on his trousers. His hand brushed against the bulge that had grown in the crotch and he refrained from fondling it just yet. He had a bit of playing to do first, to make sure his lover was receptive for his own piece of mind.

“‘Taker,” sighed Ronald as the ancient’s lips traversed his throat, sucking lightly at the skin. His hands stroked Undertaker’s pale, silken hair as the mortician’s fingers danced over the skin of his tight abs.

Undertaker stroked Ronald’s belly for a few moments, before sliding up to do the same with his chest. He really did fancy the way Knox was put together. He had a baby face that made him seem like a teenager even though he was an adult, but his body was quite toned. Undertaker admired the ripple of muscle beneath the surface of the smooth skin, finding it a treat to the senses. “I want you,” he murmured, flushing a bit at his own words. Well, it would take time for him to regain his former boldness, when it came to erotic encounters. One didn’t just bounce right back after being alone for so long.

Ronald didn’t seem to have any objections to the way he was handling it. He moaned the ancient’s name as Undertaker traced a nipple with his tongue, and he squirmed as the mortician ran one hand up and down his inner thigh.

"Damn, I want you," panted Ronald, heart pounding so hard that Undertaker could feel the rhythm of it beneath his lips. "Undertaker…you’re gonna have me begging in a minute."

The Undertaker smiled, and at last he allowed his hand to settle on the hard bulge between Ronald’s thighs. The young man’s body trembled as Undertaker massaged it, and the mortician pulled back and shook his bangs out of his eyes to look at Ronald with a flashing gaze. “How do you want me then, love?”

Ronald’s face bloomed with color and he looked at the older reaper with open desperation. “The way you say that…so hot. I want you inside me, beautiful. Here, in the bedroom, on the roof…you pick. I dun’ care, just so you fuck me.”

Undertaker chuckled, getting used to Ronald’s moment of blunt impulse. “I’m not interested in giving the city a show, love. I think the bedroom might be ideal for our first time this way.” They could discuss more adventurous locations later. He’d always been fond of the idea of making love in a graveyard, but he didn’t think now was the time to approach Ronald with such a suggestion. The past few days had been creepy enough for both of them without him revealing such a grim kink to the boy.

Ronald hopped up from the couch suddenly, taking both of the mortician’s pale hands in his and tugging him insistently towards the open door leading into his bedroom. “That’s fine by me. Come here.”

Undertaker nearly tripped as he was practically yanked forward, but Ronald embraced him, steadied him and kissed him all at once. It was a searing, needful kiss that made the ancient’s toes curl in his boots and gave him a thrill of lust, as well as anxiety. Would he even be any good? Ronald had proven his skills in bed, but this would be the first time Undertaker had done it this way in years. His mind went blank as the blond cupped him between the legs, fondling him through his pants. Driven by instinct as well as memory, the Undertaker splayed his hands over Ronald’s bottom and gave it a firm squeeze, purring in his throat as he walked the agent backwards through the bedroom door. He made a startled sound as Ronald left off messaging him to yank open his outer robe, sending two buttons flying in the process.

"My, you really _are_ eager for this,” he gasped with a smile. Rather than answer him, Ronald proceeded to do the same with the white-collared black garment he wore underneath the robe. He snickered a little nervously as Ronnie muttered a complaint over how many layers he wore, and he began to help the blond out of his clothes in reciprocation. “I’m used to all these layers, and it’s part of the gig, pet. If I’m to play the role of a funeral director, I’d better dress the part.”

Ronald feasted his eyes on the mortician’s pale chest once he had it bared to view, and he sighed, running his hands over his scarred torso. “I’d let you bury me, for sure.”

Undertaker cackled at that as he unzipped Ronald’s pants and worked them down over his hips. “What a waste that would be. I’d rather turn you into my doll and keep you forever than bury you.”

He realized it was a mistake to say that when the blond gave him an alarmed look, and he quickly tried to rectify it. “That was a joke, love. It would be a poor imitation of the reaper I’ve come to know, to raise you from the dead as a bizarre doll. Even as far as I’ve advanced my research I’m done with all that business, and even if—Styx forbid—you should ever die and I was tempted, I’d never do it without your prior permission.”

Ronald relaxed a bit and he smirked. “Good to know my boyfriend doesn’t want to turn me into a zombie, after all. You’re right; it would be a pale imitation of me. I doubt it could do this…” He kissed the mortician’s throat, right above the tracking collar. “Or this…” He slipped his hands lower and cupped his hips, pulling him tight against him.

"No," agreed the Undertaker huskily, "dollies aren’t much for kissing and touching. That need tends to get wiped out in the process."

And no matter how much he improved said process, he could never raise a doll to be exactly as they were in life. He didn’t want to think about it anymore…didn’t want to imagine anything happening to Ronald, let alone death. He got the blond’s pants down over his hips, and he caressed the soft skin of his bottom as he captured his lips again for another kiss. “Let’s leave thoughts of dolls and death on the shelf, yeah? I’ve got better things to enjoy.”

"Oh, I totally agree," answered Ronald. He hopped onto the bed and he patted the mattress, grinning up at the mortician invitingly. "Come and get me."

Undertaker didn’t think there was a soul in the world that could resist such an offer. It was the perfect distraction from his troubles, and he purposely shoved the mental image of the young man found in his garden out of his mind as he joined Ronald on the bed. He immediately claimed his lips again, drowning his fears in the pleasure of his lover’s nearness. He must have been a bit more intense than he realized, for Ronald moaned into his mouth as their teeth scraped together. Thinking he might be getting a bit too rough, the ancient softened the kiss somewhat, and he pulled Ronald’s blazer off. He tried to follow up with his shirt as well, but the blasted arm garters prevented it. With a little grunt of frustration, he removed those and then Ronnie’s shirt fluttered to the floor to join his blazer. Undertaker eased the younger reaper down onto his back and he stretched out on top of him, senses alight with desire.

Ronald started pawing at the mortician’s clothes, seeming to be in a frenzy of lust, himself. Undertaker grinned against his lips when the boy ran into a problem getting his pants off. “B-boots,” panted Ronald in a demanding tone, realizing the problem.

"Of course, love." Undertaker eased off of him and he bent his legs to unfasten and remove one boot, before doing the same with the other. His pale thigh brushed against Ronald’s stiffened sex as he did so, provoking a little his of frustration from him. He felt the smear of precum against his skin and he glanced down at the flushed length, taking a moment to admire it before curling his fingers around it to give it a gentle tug. "Now, let’s get the rest off, yeah?"

Ronald bit his lip and nodded, chest heaving with his quickened breath. He helped Undertaker out of his pants, before lifting his hips and allowing him to help remove his own shoes and trousers. The socks were the last thing to go and the Undertaker took another moment’s pause to just stare at him.

"Aren’t you a sight," he whispered, wishing he could freeze the moment and paint it. He was no artist, though. "I should have you pose like this for a portrait, just for me."

Ronald reclined on his back and threaded his fingers behind his head, winking up at him. “I’ve got a camera in the top drawer of my dresser over there, if ya want a picture. Fair is fair though: you take one of me and you’ve got to agree to let me take one of you, too. Oh, lubricant…” He started digging through the drawer of his bedside table for the required item and he breathed a sigh of obvious relief when he found the tube.

Familiar enough with cameras, the ancient hesitated for a moment. “You’re utterly shameless, my lad.”

Ronald shrugged and smirked. “I’m not ashamed to take a ‘nudey’ for my man, and neither should you be. It isn’t like I’ll be showing it off to other people. Just something nice t’ look at when we aren’t together, you know?”

The Undertaker smirked back. “And a visual reminder of what we have waiting for us, eh? I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

It felt thrilling and a bit naughty as he went to the dresser and searched the top drawer. He’d never posed nude for a lover before, nor had he ever captured the image of a nude lover himself. The ancient frowned as he searched through the various odds and ends within the drawer. “Ronnie, I don’t see a camera in here. Not even sure how you could fit one in this little drawer in the first place. Are you sure it’s in here?”

"Sure, I’m sure. It’s a little silver one. What the hell are you looking for, one of those big clunky accordion-looking things they use in the mortal world?"

Undertaker flushed a little, embarrassed. He kept forgetting that reaper technology was so far ahead, and now that Ronald mentioned it he thought he saw something that looked like it could be some form of camera. It was tiny though—could probably fit into the palm of his hand. He picked it up uncertainly and held it up to show Ronald. “Is this it?”

"Yeah, that’s it," answered the blond with an amused grin. "The little knob on the back turns it on. Don’t forget to take off the lens cap."

Undertaker found the lens cap and he pulled it off to leave it dangling by the tether attached to the device. Being scientifically minded, he was able to figure out the basics of the camera. It came alive with a beep as he turned it on and he blinked when he saw the little screen light up, showing him a video image of his surroundings as seen by the digital lens. “My, that’s interesting,” he observed, aiming the camera at Ronald. He smirked when the blond’s nude glory showed up on the screen. “It’s like a little telly’s built into it!”

Ronald chuckled. “You’re cute when you get all excited by a new discovery. Yeah, that’s the way modern reaper cameras work. They focus automatically, so ya don’t have to fool around with the lens. All you do is point, center and click. Simple as that.”

"Hmm, okay. What do I click once I’ve got it centered?"

Ronald crossed his ankles and relaxed. “See that little button on the top on the right? Just push that. You don’t have to wait or anything; it snaps the picture instantly.”

"I see. How marvelous." Undertaker could easily see himself turning into one of those "tech junkies" if he wasn’t careful. There were so many interesting inventions on this side. He enjoyed his simpler lifestyle though…enjoyed the feel of a book in his hands and cooking over a stove. Reminding himself not to take the simpler things in life for granted, he carefully centered the image on the screen and he adjusted his hold on the camera before clicking the button.

"Whoops. I think my bloody finger was over the lens," he muttered when the screen showed him a preview of his shot and asked if he wanted to save it. Half of Ronald’s body was eclipsed by said fingertip. "Er, Ronnie, how do I go back so it’ll let me try again?"

Ronald snorted with amusement. “Select the little ‘x’ button so it doesn’t save it, to the right of the screen. It ought to take you back into picture taking mode, then.”

Undertaker did as he suggested and he tried again. This time the results were much better, and he presumed the checkmark button was the way to go. He was right, and he grinned in triumph. “That wasn’t so complicated.”

Ronald got up and approached him, taking the device from him. “Not bad for an old fossil,” he teased. “Now it’s my turn. Go pose pretty for the camera, silver fox.”

Undertaker nearly chickened out, but Ronald had given him no reason to believe he would display a photo of his naked, lanky self to anyone else. With a shrug, the mortician went back to the bed and climbed onto it. He lay back on his elbows and bent one knee, shaking his bangs out of his eyes. “Will this do, love?”

For a minute, Ronald stared dumbly at him, and his erection twitched visibly. “Uh…yeah. Th-that’ll do great. Wow.”

He snapped the picture and put the camera on top of the dresser, before taking a flying leap into the bed. Both of them yelled in protest when their heads collided. Smacking a hand over his forehead, the Undertaker rubbed it and looked at his dazed companion with a grin. “I like you throwing yourself at me pet…really I do…but in the future, you don’t need to club me with your noggin t’ get me into bed.”

Ronald was wincing as he rubbed his own forehead, but he chuckled. “Sorry…my aim was off. I guess my mind was set on riding your cock and I miscalculated.”

The mortician laughed helplessly. He found the young man’s candor all too charming, and Ronald made everything so much easier. “Eager sort, aren’t you?” He reached out to cup the back of Ron’s head and draw him closer, desiring nothing more than to taste those soft, talented lips again. Ronald obliged him without resistance, his mouth moving hungrily against the Undertaker’s. He made a noise that caused the elder’s length to twitch greedily, and Undertaker wondered what sounds he might provoke from him when he was thrusting inside of him. Personal doubts began to fade away under the easy, natural way Ronald submitted to his kiss, and near-forgotten instincts began to come back.

Tongues thrusting, curling and caressing, the unlikely couple rolled together on the surface of the bed until the paler, taller of the two was on top. The Undertaker hummed in pleasure as he rubbed against his partner, brushing the hardened lengths of their arousal against one another.

"I haven’t had anyone this way in so long," admitted the mortician breathlessly, drawing back to gaze down at Ronald. The younger man’s lips were parted and kiss-swollen, his cheeks flushed delightfully with passion. "You are such a temptation, Ronald Knox."

"I try," quipped Ronald with a grin. "You’re too far away. Come here." He cupped the back of Undertaker’s head to draw his lips down again and he kissed him eagerly, wrapping one leg around his waist. The mortician groaned softly and he balanced himself on one arm to reach down and start playing. He grinned when Ronald’s breath caught and he broke the kiss again to watch him as he fondled his jutting length.

"A bit on the sensitive side, are we?" He teased, moving his gripping hand up and down the shaft with slow, deliberate intent.

"H-how can you tell?" gasped Ronald. His eyes fluttered shut and he moaned, lifting his hips to silently beg for more.

"Ah, Ronnie," sighed the Undertaker. He couldn’t think of anything to say to follow up with, though. How could he do his feelings justice with mere words? It didn’t seem possible to him. Here was this bold, fun-loving youth in his bed, willing to give himself to him even after all that had happened. Undertaker still wasn’t totally convinced that he himself wasn’t a danger to Knox, despite evidence suggesting he’d never actually committed any of those acts of violence. Every moment they spent together put Ronald at greater risk, and yet he was too selfish to let him go.

"I wouldn’t have blamed you, you know," he murmured as he watched the expressions of pleasure flit over Ronald’s face, "if you’d decided to make yourself scarce, that is. Especially after finding me sleep-walking. That’d be enough to scare most anyone, truth be told."

"I don’t…scare easily," answered Ronald haltingly. He gasped again as the elder’s stroking sped up, and he looked up at him with an expression akin to desperation. “‘Taker…fuck, that feels good. Y-you…ahh!"

Undertaker teased the slit in the head of Ronald’s cock with a fingernail, making it twitch and provoking his body into tensing all over. He smiled and he lowered his mouth to the blond’s arching throat, licking the perspiration from it. “Mmm. Will you beg for mercy, Agent Knox?”

"I…I’ll beg for yer cock," panted Ronald shamelessly. "Want you so bad…"

"Soon enough, pet." Undertaker kept teasing him, alternating between stimulating the sensitive tip and stroking the length. "Yes, soon enough."

He was in his element again, recalling things that he’d all but forgotten. He tried different techniques and he used his lips and tongue on other parts of Ronald’s straining, trembling body, demonstrating that he was just as good with his mouth as he was with his hands. It was an art, really…finding out what areas were most sensitive to the touch, whether Ronald enjoyed a firm hand or a gentle one. He seemed to have a liking for both, depending on where explorations took the Undertaker. Ron cried out when the mortician gently nibbled the hard peaks of his nipples, and the next thing he knew, the ancient’s stomach got bathed in Ronald’s spurting seed.

"My, my," he stated, looking down at the younger man’s twitching length still gripped in his hand. "No warning? That might have been rude if my mouth was down there, you know."

"S-sorry," gasped Ronald. He looked utterly delightful in the afterglow of his completion. "It snuck up on me. You’re just that bloody good!"

 The Undertaker chuckled in amusement and he kissed Ron’s gasping lips. “Well it’s a good thing you’re such a spry, virile fellow then.”

Not that Ronald being spent had any bearing on whether the Undertaker himself could perform, but it was no fun if both parties didn’t reach completion during the act. He ran his hands over the blond’s panting body, giving him a break to rest and catch his second wind before resuming. He stopped Ronald when the boy started to reach for his erection, shaking his silver head in warning.

"Do that and we might have to wait even longer for _me_ to get a second wind,” he insisted. “I doubt I’d last long enough to join with you, if I let you start playing.”

Ronnie grinned at him and obligingly laced his fingers behind his head with a sigh. His lips parted and a soft moan escaped him when the mortician’s fingers rubbed his nipples, teasing them back to hardness. “Those hands,” murmured Ronald in appreciation.

Undertaker smiled again and let said hands stroke lower on the agent’s body. “It’s easy to let them go, when I have such a treat lying before me.” He ran one palm over Ronald’s inner thigh, while stroking his hip with the other. The young reaper’s groin visibly stirred and Undertaker’s grin broadened. “Just as I thought; doesn’t take long.”

"Not with you," agreed Ronald in a pleasurable hum. His breath caught as the silver reaper scooted down on the bed and lowered his mouth to his re-awakening groin, licking the underside of it. "Oh…oh, that’s nice," encouraged Ronald—and then he stopped talking and combed his fingers through the mortician’s hair.

The Undertaker took his time with it, re-acquainting himself with the act of oral pleasuring. With each encounter they had, he grew more confident and he intended to show Ronald why he had so many reapers vying for his attention back in the day. He heard a husky whimper from him as he closed his lips around Ronald’s shaft and gave it a suck, and it stiffened further in his mouth. He might be out of practice, but he knew what felt good and he knew how to give it. He began to move his mouth up and down the length, keeping his pale lips tightly sealed around the girth as he coaxed the organ to full hardness again. Ronald started panting heavily and blurting his name, his hips shifting and rolling on the bed. Undertaker grasped his hips to hold him still, not wishing to have his rhythm spoiled by Ronald’s eager thrusting.

"Unh…’T-Taker…you’re gonna make me lose it again!"

He almost kept going regardless of the warning, so fascinated by the helpless sounds he was evoking that he forgot the purpose of his ministrations. Undertaker took pity on his lover and he reluctantly released his now twitching cock from his mouth. With a smile, he stretched out on top of Ronald and he reached for the lubricant, retracting his nails as he did so. This was the bit that made him nervous.

"You’ll tell me if I hurt you at all, yeah?"

Ronald’s eyes softened as he looked up at him, and he reached up to trace the scar slashing over the Undertaker’s pale visage. “You won’t hurt me.”

The older reaper bit his lip uncertainly. “You say that now, but it’s been a very long time since I’ve prepared anyone like this…let alone been inside of ‘em.”

"I’ll walk ya through it, then." Ronald took the tube from him and he opened it, before squeezing some of it out onto his fingers.

"You’ve got real talent with these hands," he murmured, "so even if it’s been a while, I know this’ll go easy. Don’t be afraid of hurting me. Just follow your instincts." Ronald finished coating the mortician’s fingers with the lube, and he pulled his long silver hair to one side so that it wouldn’t get in the way. He parted his thighs and he smiled coaxingly at him, relaxing beneath him.

"I can roll onto my stomach if it makes it easier," offered Ronald.

Undertaker drew a slow breath, and he nearly took him up on the offer. If he did that, however, he wouldn’t be able to see Ron’s face and judge whether he was causing un-necessary discomfort. “This’ll be fine, love.”

Ronald nodded and he lifted his legs to rest his ankles on the Undertaker’s shoulders, providing him better access. Impulsively, the Undertaker turned his head and kissed the side of one of Ronnie’s feet before sliding one finger slowly into him. Ronald exhaled slowly, but he didn’t protest or look pained. He nodded up at him and he caressed Undertaker’s parted thighs.

"Keep going. It’s fine, gorgeous. Feels nice."

Hoping he wasn’t just feeding him nonsense to keep him from stopping, Undertaker swallowed and pushed in deeper. Ronald’s eyes fluttered shut and he clenched a bit around him, giving the mortician pause. It was so snug, and he couldn’t help but worry.

"Don’t stop," urged Ronald a bit breathlessly. "You know what to do, ‘Taker. Don’t be scared to do it."

Trying to put aside his misgivings, the mortician obligingly began to pump his finger, withdrawing to the nail bed and then easing it back in. Ronald moaned, and there was no mistaking it for a sound of pain. The mortician watched his young lover’s face as he slowly thrust his finger inside of him, watching carefully for signs of pain even as he admired the passionate expressions of pleasure. When he thought it was safe to do so, he included another finger, and he felt around for that spongy lump that tended to bring so much pleasure.

"Oh…hell yes," groaned Ronald when he succeeded. His hips jerked and he whimpered. "R-right there…yeah…that’s it!"

Well, as concerned as he’d been that Ronald wouldn’t be vocal enough about any pain, he was certainly generous with voicing his pleasure. The Undertaker smiled, relaxing a bit now that he’d found the magic spot. “I imagine your neighbors are in for an interesting listen.”

"They can listen all they w-want," panted Ronald. "H-hope they like the show…ah…fuck, Undertaker!"

If he didn’t know any better, the Undertaker might have wondered if Ronnie was giving _him_ a show—but having experienced his unrestrained enthusiasm in bed before, he couldn’t imagine him faking it. He was simply a vocal fellow. He had to admit it made him feel good about his efforts.

"Easy love," soothed the mortician, even as he mercilessly petted the spot inside each time he thrust. He recalled exactly what it felt like and a flush of pink stole over his white cheeks. "You’ve no idea how tempted I am to replace my fingers with my cock right now, darlin’."

"Go for it," gasped Ronald, his hands grabbing fistfuls of the sheets.

The ancient’s smile gentled and he shook his head. “That definitely _would_ hurt you, my lad. Soon enough, though.”

It was so much easier said than done. By the time he was confident enough to try entering Ronald, Undertaker feared he’d spill himself in one thrust. The blond’s throaty moans of encouragement and naughty talk were all too appealing, and the mortician had to pause and take a few steadying breaths before finally withdrawing his fingers and positioning himself. Breathing heavily, he stared down at Ronald just as the agent had stared down at him their first time. Ronald groaned a bit when the Undertaker’s thick length nudged into him, but he grabbed his ass and panted encouragement.

"Don’t you…dare stop!"

Undertaker’s eyes were blank with pleasure, and he barely recognized his own voice when he responded. “Don’t think I could if I wanted to, my love…”

He moaned as he rocked forward, filling the younger reaper more deeply. It was as fantastic as before, though different. Ronald fit him like a glove, his body squeezing his cock delightfully. With a helpless groan, the ancient pulled back a bit and then drove his throbbing length back in to the hilt. His mouth sought out Ronald’s and he kissed him languidly, tongue caressing his in a slow dance as he began to move. Ronald’s breath huffed against his face as he broke the kiss to stare down at him, only to close in again for another one. His short-trimmed nails dug into the Undertaker’s hips as he clutched at them, urging him on with his hands since his voice was muffled by the kiss. Ronald began to thrust beneath him, matching his motions to intensify the experience.

"Oh, sweet Styx," panted the Undertaker, his senses alight with the intimate pleasure of it. He tried to pace himself, not wanting to get carried away and be too rough. The way Ronald was moving, his muscles squeezing him with each thrust…it made it very difficult to maintain some semblance of control.

Ronald’s hands left his hips to stroke Undertaker’s chest and sides and his cries grew louder and more desperate with each pelvic motion. “Undertaker…baby…I’m getting close,” he groaned, and he embraced him and pressed his sweating forehead against the pale chest. “Ohh…annnh! Don’t stop…please don’t stop!”

He then reached down and started fondling himself, dual-toned head thrown back and eyes shut with bliss. Undertaker supported his upper body on his arms and he reared back to watch him, his own features tense with the growing pressure. “Ronald,” he moaned, pumping faster and harder. He quickly adjusted the pillow under his lover’s head to cushion it when he realized it was starting to bang against the headboard. “Sorry about that, love,” he gasped.

"Didn’t even feel it," answered Ronald breathlessly with a smirk. His eyes widened when Undertaker tried a different angle and a string of curses erupted from his mouth.

At first Undertaker thought he’d hurt him, but then he felt his erection pulse against his belly and he smiled with comprehension. He kept thrusting at that angle, his hips rolling smoothly as he strove to give his companion the most possible pleasure. Ronald lost all capacity for speech and nothing else came from him except loud, incoherent moans and cries. He finally managed to scream the Undertaker’s name, and the warm, slippery spurt of his seed soon followed. Undertaker bowed his head and hissed, holding back on his climax for as long as he could. He slowed his thrusts and he kissed Ronald, breath hitching in his throat. The younger reaper stroked his hair as he caught his breath and he kissed his ear, tonguing the piercings playfully. That did the mortician in. He tensed over Ronald and he buried his face against the crook of his neck, emitting a long, heartfelt moan as he filled him.

"The ear play was…really unfair," he complained with a smile of fulfillment, once he could find his voice again. "I might have lasted longer, if it weren’t for that."

"Couldn’t have ya outdoing me, old geezer," teased Ronald.

Undertaker lifted his head off his shoulder and grinned down at him, still panting. “Why? Afraid you’d get hard again?”

"Oh, I _know_ I’d have gotten hard again if you kept at it,” admitted Ronald shamelessly. He reached up and brushed the ancient’s bangs out of his eyes, tucking some strands behind one ear. “But I could tell you were close and I wanted to feel ya come inside me. Besides, you were holding back and that wasn’t fair to you.”

Undertaker stared at him for a moment, his brows furrowing in thought. “That’s an oddly romantic notion. You’ve a talent for doing that, Ronnie.”

Ronald smirked. “I know I’m not the most poetic bloke in the world, but I like to think I’m considerate in bed.”

"You are," agreed the mortician with a sigh. His softening length was still inside of the younger reaper, and he was in no great hurry to remove it. He lowered his mouth to Ronald’s for another slow kiss, lazily tracing his lips with his tongue.

"Mmm, keep that up and I might demand a second helping," warned Ronald in a semi-serious tone.

Undertaker started to make a quip, but then he felt the proof that his lover wasn’t kidding. Ronnie was already starting to firm up against his lower abdomen. Undertaker glanced down and he blinked.

"You weren’t kidding! My goodness, lad…where do you find the stamina?"

Ronald laughed, even as he blushed a little. “I can’t help it if you’re so damned sexy I can’t get enough of you!”

He braced his feet flat on the bed and he rolled, taking the older reaper with him until Undertaker was on his back and he was straddling him. He kissed his chin, then his throat. “How about we switch, eh?”

"I don’t know if I can recover as quickly as you," admitted the Undertaker, "and aren’t you a bit…er…sore anyhow?"

Ronald chuckled. “Yeah, but _you_ shouldn’t be. I don’t think ya got my meaning.” He eased off of the Undertaker and he reached for the lubricant. “I wasn’t talking about you having another go at me.”

Undertaker got his meaning when the blond scooted down the length of his body and began to play. “Oh.”

Contrary to his earlier statement, the Undertaker began to recover quite fast with Ronald’s assistance, and he certainly didn’t have any arguments against his idea.

* * *

 

-To be continued


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

Undertaker awoke early the next day, plagued by nightmares of Victor Tally and fears of what might happen if the man was indeed still alive after all this time. He sat up slowly, feeling a terrible dread that he couldn’t quite place. He felt a tug at his hair and he reached back to pull it over one side, figuring he was just sitting on it. He heard a peculiar sound that reminded him of medical tape being pulled free of a wound, and he twisted a little in the bed to look back. The mortician froze. A lock of his hair had stuck to the bed sheets, plastered there by what appeared to be drying blood. Undertaker pushed his bangs out of his eyes and leaned over to have a closer look, thinking he surely must be mistaken. He brought the matted lock of hair to his nose and he sniffed it before studying the substance sticking the strands together.

Blood. It was definitely blood. He felt a flash of panic and he took a deep breath before pulling the sheets down to expose his softly snoring companion. Ronald looked unharmed and he appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Blinking, the Undertaker reached out with his unsoiled hand to run his nails gently over the agent’s back. He got out of the bed and he examined his nude body, searching for any signs of injury. Finding none, he located his robe and slipped quietly into it so that he could search the house. First he cleaned away the blood on the sheets as quietly and thoroughly as he could. He had a terrible feeling that he might find a dead rat, pigeon or squirrel, killed unknowingly by his own hands in his sleep. He found absolutely nothing and he scratched his head with a perplexed frown.

"Maybe I started trying to cook something in my sleep," he reasoned.

It was possible that Ronald had some meat in the refrigerator, and Undertaker _did_ enjoy cooking. Blood from a steak could attribute to the mess in his hair. He went into the kitchen again and he looked around for any signs of attempted culinary activity, but he found nothing. Upon opening Ronald’s refrigerator to investigate, he found that it was practically empty. There was nothing but an expired, half-used bottle of milk, the shriveled remains of a plum and some dubious lunchmeat. The freezer wasn’t much better; he found a frozen pizza and some ice cubes. He guessed Ronald ate out most of the time. 

The Undertaker retrieved and disposed of all of the outdated perishables. He could just imagine Ronnie accidentally consuming spoiled goods in a sleepy haze. Perhaps a trip to the market would be permissible today. While he was a guest in Ronald’s apartment, the least he could do was stock his pantry a bit and feed him some decent meals.

Undertaker snorted. “Now I’m thinking like a granny…or a mum.”

But Ronald truly seemed to live the “bachelor life” and the boy obviously didn’t know how to cook. No reason he should dine on frozen meals and fast food while Undertaker was living under his roof. He still had a mystery to solve and washing up to do, though. Still a tad sore from their activities the night before, the mortician went into the bathroom to clean up—the one place in the apartment that he hadn’t yet investigated. He froze as soon as he walked in and noticed the letters smeared in dried blood on the medicine cabinet’s mirror. He leaned in closer and squinted to read them, and his breath halted.

_"Nowhere to hide."_

Undertaker stared at the mess for a moment, and then almost frantically he yanked a stream of toilet paper off the roll and dampened it to begin wiping it off. He took a shaken breath when that was finished and he dropped the soiled ball of wiping paper into the toilet to be flushed. He examined his hands and the long, retractable fingernails at the tips of his fingers. Something came back to him then…a vague, fuzzy recollection of him digging into his own wrist with the sharp tips of one of those nails until blood welled. He couldn’t recall writing anything with it, but the evidence he’d just cleaned up was proof enough.

"What in blazes is happening to me," whispered the ancient, sinking down onto the toilet seat for fear that his legs might soon give out on him. Was it subconscious guilt causing these episodes, or was he going even madder than he already was?

He noticed the matted lock of hair still caked with his own blood, and he stood up again and lowered it into the sink to hastily rinse the mess out. He didn’t bother with the shampoo he’d brought—made by his own hands with herbal extracts from his own garden. He just needed to get the mess out. He used the bar of hand soap in the dish and he lathered up the matted hair and rinsed until the water ran clear again. He then rinsed the bar of soap off and replaced it, before closing his eyes and trying to calm his mind.

"I didn’t hurt Ronnie," he reassured himself in a whisper. "He’d have woken up if I’d cut him. He’s fine."

He repeated this softly to himself until he felt like he could breath again without hyperventilating. Once he’d calmed enough to concentrate, he opened up the toiletry pouch he’d brought with him and he fetched his toothbrush and toothpaste to clean his teeth. At least he knew that the overnight weirdness was of his own doing, and not the work of his stalker.

* * *

 

"Hey gorgeous," Ronald greeted as he stumbled into the kitchen in his robe a short while later. He covered his mouth on a yawn and he stretched, grinning. "Something smells good! What is that, bacon and eggs?" He sniffed the air in the busy mortician’s direction, stomach growling with hunger.

“‘Tis,” answered the Undertaker, smiling over his shoulder at the younger man. “We can’t have you going off to work hungry, yeah?”

Ronald approached with a puzzled expression, and he embraced his companion from behind. “Where’d you get the stuff to cook it? I don’t remember having any of that in my fridge and I know ya didn’t go out, else Dispatch would have called me demanding to know where you were going.”

"Well, I happened to notice that slip of paper tacked to your refrigerator," explained the Undertaker with a nod at the folded item, hanging by a magnet. "So I rang them up and made an order."

Ronald looked at the item and he understood. It was from a local business that delivered groceries to residents. He remembered being given their menu by a guy that was going from door to door in his building one day, leaving his menu with residents to try and get more business. Ronald had never made use of their company before but he kept it stuck to his fridge with a magnet just in case.

"Wow, you’re resourceful," complimented the agent. He rubbed Undertaker’s stomach and kissed his shoulder. "Seems you always find a way, don’t ya?"

The ancient nodded, but he seemed to tense just a bit. Ronald sobered and he moved his hands up to rub the Undertaker’s shoulders. “Something on your mind, ‘Taker? You all right?”

"Oh, I’m fine," assured the mortician in a tone that was just a bit too breezy to sound genuine to Ronnie’s ears. "I just don’t want to overcook this. How do y’ like your yokes, Ronnie? Runny or solid?"

"Hmm, a bit on the runny side, I guess," answered Ronald. "I like to soak it up with toast…that is, if we _had_ some toast.”

No sooner did he say that than the toaster dinged and two fresh pieces of bread popped up. Ronald blinked and then chuckled. “Damn, you covered everything!”

Undertaker winked over his shoulder at him. “I don’t do things half-arsed, li’l love. Now why don’t you fetch the butter from your cold pantry and set a couple of plates at the bar for us, while I finish up with this?”

Ronald felt a little embarrassed that he lacked an actual dining table, but the Undertaker truly didn’t seem to mind. He was just amazed that the man had figured out how to work the toaster and his electric stove, after living in the less advanced mortal realm for so long. Most modern reaper-made appliances must be so strange to him.

"Beauty _and_ brains,” he remarked teasingly as he got out some plates and his favorite, gaudy orange drinking glasses. So far, Undertaker was the only guest he’d ever had that didn’t question his decorating tastes or grimace at the color of his curtains. He set the plates and the glasses down on the counter bar and he went to the fridge to collect the butter. When he opened the door he gasped in shock.

"Holy _shit_! My fridge has _never_ been this stocked before! How’d you manage to do all this before I woke up?”

"By waking up two hours before you, I imagine," chuckled the mortician. "Fortunately that company delivers at all hours. Stop looking so surprised, Ronnie. Your face will freeze that way."

Ronald kept staring at all the groceries neatly organized in his refrigerator, amazed. He had milk, butter, eggs, a bowl of apples and oranges, bread, cheese, what appeared to be smoked, sliced ham on the bottom shelf and even some bananas. He checked the crisper and found a head of cabbage, some carrots and a few onions. Shaking his head in amazement, he got the tub of butter out and he finally closed the door.

"You really went all out. How’d ya pay for all this anyway?"

Undertaker shrugged. “Turns out they accept mortal currency. The exchange rate is rather poor but I _did_ have a pretty pence squirreled away. I might not like spending it but a reaper’s got to eat and my garden at home can only provide so much.”

"So you _do_ take money sometimes. I was wondering about that. Figured ya had to pay your bills somehow.”

"Sadly, it’s necessary to charge a fee of coin now and then," sighed the mortician. "I only do it enough to cover the necessities, though."

"Well, how much did it come to in Shinigami notes? I’ll reimburse you for it."

Undertaker shook his head and he took the skillet of eggs off the stove. “Nonsense, m’dear. Consider it my contribution whilst I’m a guest in your home. Least I can do is cook for you.”

He carried the skillet over to the bar and he scooped the eggs out with the spatula to lay them on the plate, before returning to the stove to get the bacon to do the same. Ronald scratched the back of his head, feeling kind of shy all the sudden.

"Nobody’s ever done this for me before. Are you sure I can’t at least pay for half of it?"

Undertaker smiled at him as he put the pan back on the stove to cool off and got the toast. “You’ve done plenty for me that nobody’s ever done before, love. Feeding you home cooked meals is a small thing in comparison, as far as I’m concerned. Now sit your darling tush down and enjoy breakfast with me.”

Ronald smirked as he complied. His “darling tush” was still a bit sore from last night, but what was to be expected after some good loving—especially with a partner as well-endowed as the Undertaker. He squirmed a little in the bar chair to get more comfortable and he began to butter his toast. Undertaker poured some milk into the glasses for them and he too sat down to eat.

"This looks great," complimented Ronald, sprinkling a little salt and pepper on his eggs. "Thanks, sexy."

"My pleasure." Undertaker cut a piece of bacon and forked it into his mouth.

"So did ya want to shower with me before I go to work?" Ronald gave him a mischievous wink and he cut into his egg. "Though I might end up a bit late if ya do. Don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off you."

"Well, you’ll just have to discipline yourself," suggested the Undertaker with a playful twinkle in his eye.

"Or _you_ could discipline me.” Ron waggled his eyebrows at him. “I wouldn’t mind.”

"Is someone asking for a bit of a spanky?" The mortician’s stunning gaze held Ronald’s, and there was a hint of a promise in them.

Ronald shrugged and grinned, forking up a bite of egg. “If ya think I’ve been naughty enough t’ deserve one.”

"Hmm, you were a very naughty boy last night," pondered the Undertaker. "Be careful what you offer, darlin’."

Ronald chuckled, not a bit intimidated. A little harmless roleplay never hurt anyone, and he was willing to bet it’d be even more fun with a guy like the Undertaker. “I’ll even let ya tie me up tonight, if you want.”

The mortician raised a pale brow with intrigue. “Yeah? Have you any rope?”

"Uh, no…but I can get some cuffs from work today."

The other brow went up and the mortician brushed his bangs aside to give Ronald a measuring look. “I’m starting t’ think you’re serious, Ronnie.”

"I am," promised the blond. "Knoxy ain’t afraid to try a little kink once in a while, long as it doesn’t involve cutting or anything real painful. A little hanky spanky doesn’t bother me, though, and neither does bondage."

"That takes a considerable amount of trust," observed the mortician. "Do you really trust me that much, Ronald? Enough to be bound up and utterly vulnerable?"

Ronald’s teasing smile faded and he put his fork down to lay his hand over the Undertaker’s. “Hey, I know you didn’t do any that stuff that’s happened, ‘Taker. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

The mortician’s smile was a bit wistful. “Do you? Seems I worry about that more than you.” He sighed and took a bite of toast, chewing and swallowing before speaking again. “I would never intentionally hurt you, Ronnie. You’re right about that.”

Ronald took a swig of milk and he forked up some bacon. “If it makes ya nervous we don’t have to do it. I’m just letting you know I’m willing. Oh, and if there’s anything you’d like to try, don’t be too shy to ask. Worst I can do is say no.”

Undertaker gave him a slightly wary look. “I’ll…keep that in mind.”

Ron grinned at him, suspecting he already had something on his mind. “Whatcha thinking, Undertaker? I promise it won’t scare me off.”

"Don’t be so sure of that," answered the silver reaper. "I doubt anyone’s ever made this request of you before."

"Come on," coaxed Ronald. "Tell me what’s on your mind. It’s okay."

The ancient looked down at the tanned hand resting on his pale one. “Let me think on it for a bit, love.”

Ronald shrugged, not wanting to make the man feel uncomfortable or unsafe. “Okay, I won’t push you. Just remember I’m a pretty open minded guy and I might surprise you.”

"We’ll see," answered the older man guardedly.

* * *

 

After breakfast, Ronald and the Undertaker showered together and played a bit before he had to dress and go to work. Ronald’s bottom was stinging for a different reason when he kissed his lover goodbye and went off to work. It took a bit of coaxing on his part, but he’d convinced the Undertaker to give him a few swats just for fun, and Ronald was grinning from ear to ear when he made it to the office and he whistled as he clocked in. With that done, he reported immediately to the boss, wondering if anything new had come up with the investigation.

"Morning boss," greeted Ronald as he stepped into Spears’ office. "What’s shaking?"

William paused in writing something on a report document. “Much the same as always, I’m afraid. If you’ve come to ask about the Undertaker’s case, we’ve found no further leads. We cannot confirm that the reaper he mentioned is indeed dead. Victor Tally was declared missing years ago, shortly after the Undertaker defected. No records of his death have been found, as of yet.”

"So he could still be alive. He might be the one behind all this."

William sighed. “Possibly. It is equally possible that someone else with a grudge against the Undertaker has been doing their best to make it seem like Mr. Tally is responsible. Our agents that have been watching the funeral parlor haven’t reported any demonic activity in the area, nor have they seen anyone approach the building other than mortals seeking the Undertaker’s services.”

Ronald nodded, mouth pulling into a grim frown. “I’d say it could be a human, but that body we found was obviously killed by a reaper. The death aura confirmed that. No human could have made it into our realm t’ attack me in the garage that day, either.”

"Just so," agreed William. "We cannot rule out the possibility that the culprit has human allies assisting him, however. Perhaps spying on the shop and reporting back to him."

Ron sighed. He hated how little progress they’d made. He felt like Undertaker’s sleepwalking issues would go away once they caught the person behind all this and put an end to his sick schemes. “Great. Well I know I’m not s’posed to be directly involved in this ‘cause of my feelings for him, but I’d really appreciate it if you’d let me do _something_ to help. The more people you’ve got on this, the sooner it’ll be solved, right?”

"In theory," agreed William with a nod, "but your conflict of interests makes it quite complicated, Knox. I can put in a request with the board, but you must know there are no guarantees. Failing that, we shall keep you in the loop."

"I guess that’s all I can ask." Ronald checked his watch. "Well, I’ve got reports I’d better jump on and collections to make, so I’ll leave ya to it and get going. Call me if anything changes, sir."

"I shall," promised William.

* * *

 

"What am I doin’ here?" Eric complained. "We havenae seen hide nor hair of any suspicious people. Feels like we’re on a wild goose chase."

Leaning against the wall of the alleyway across the street from the Undertaker’s shop, Grell filed his nails absently and shrugged. “Oh, don’t be such an impatient creature, Eric. Everything that’s happened so far has occurred here, so logically the culprit will eventually come back and try something. William’s calculations are rarely incorrect, after all.”

"Except there’s one problem wi’ tha’ logic," argued the Scotsman. "Ronnie was attacked on _our_ side, right in tha parking garage under our noses. Wha’s tae say this crazy bampot won’t try tae track ‘em down tae his place on our side? While we’re sittin’ here watchin’ tha shop, tha suspect could already be back in our realm, waiting tae strike again. Even tha security cameras dinnae help us identify tha man last time.”

"Ronnie knows to watch himself," insisted Grell with a yawn. "This way both sides are on the lookout for the criminal, darling. He’ll make another move sooner or later and no matter what side it happens on, someone will be there to see it."

"Or Ronnie won’t see it commin’, no matter how alert he tries tae be," suggested Eric grimly. He grimaced and scratched his beard growth. "I dun’ like it one bit. Tha kid’s in real danger."

"Oh Eric, you really _must_ try and relax a bit,” sighed Grell. He pushed away from the wall and he reached up to rub the taller reaper’s broad, tense shoulders. “Between worrying over your partner and worrying over Ronnie, you’ll give yourself an ulcer!”

"How can yeh tell me tae relax?" Demanded the Scotsman, even as he closed his eyes with pleasure at the massage. "Alan’s in tha hospital after ano’er attack of tha Thorns, Ronnie’s bate for a murdering, obsessed psychopath an’ so far, we havenae come up wi’ any solid leads. It’s hard tae relax right now, Sutcliff."

Grell clucked his tongue. “You poor dear. Were I not already in love with another gorgeous man, I would be tempted to distract you from your anxiety in a much more…pleasurable way. Of course, you have your partner as well and I know you would never stray.”

"It’s tha thought tha’ counts," mumbled Eric. "I jus’ hope Ronnie’s keepin’ his eyes open an’ no’ too distracted by his feelings fer tha Undertaker. Fresh relationships can make people daydream too much."

Grell smiled and patted the Scotsman’s shoulder, backing away. “Oh, don’t I know it! Ah, I can hardly stop thinking of my handsome love.”

Eric chuckled. “Well, ya need tae try. I know ye’ve been after Will fer a long time but dun’ let yer bliss make ya careless.”

"And yet here you are, obsessing over dear Alan," reminded Grell.

Eric shrugged and lowered his gaze. “Tha’s different. Al’s dying.”

"But he’s not dead yet," insisted Grell. "Why don’t you go and visit him at the infirmary, handsome? I can handle this boring steakout on my own while you take a break."

Eric was warily grateful for the offer. “Ya sure ‘bout tha’?”

Grell reached up and patted his cheek. “Mm-hmm. Go and visit your love for a little while. We can mark it off as a lunch break, and if anything happens I shall contact you immediately.”

"Ye’d better," cautioned Eric. "Dun’ try tae take on tha suspect solo if he shows. We dunno wha’ he’s capable of."

"Of course, darling. I won’t go in without backup. Trust me."

Eric smirked. “Famous last words. Thanks, Grell.”

* * *

 

"Oh dear gods, whyever did I let the man go off and leave me hear?" Griped the crimson reaper to himself some thirty minutes later. He was frightfully bored and he hadn’t even thought to bring one of his favorite books with him to pass the time. "Dammit, Will…this is all _your_ fault.”

It wasn’t precisely fair to blame his frustration on his stoic, handsome lover. Grell knew from the beginning that William wouldn’t want their affair publicized but he couldn’t stop thinking of the way the man had thrown him onto the futon in his office and taken him ‘till he was cross-eyed with bliss just yesterday. Not even twenty-four hours had passed and Grell already wanted the man again. A part of him wondered if William could ever come to love him… _need_ him the way Grell needed Will.

"Stop it," he hissed at himself, and he pinched his own arm. "Just stop your bloody daydreaming. It amounts to nothing!"

Oh, but the mere thought of his glorious prince finally proclaiming his love aloud made Grell sigh helplessly, and his green-gold eyes unfocused with dreamy bliss behind the red frames of his glasses.

"Oh, William…"

A silly smile wound its way upon Grell’s lips and he cupped his face in his gloved palms, blushing. Goodness, the things William could do with that tongue and those lips. He never would have imagined either of them capable of such sinful acts, had he not experienced them first-hand. Grell could have remained that way, elbows propped on the roof’s edge and ankles crossed in the manner of a teenaged girl—but then he noticed movement at the edge of the Undertaker’s property and he blinked.

"Oh hells…really?"

Grell perked up like a cat and he slunk closer to the edge of the rooftop, narrowing his eyes. Yes…someone was creeping up to the back door of the mortician’s shop. Robed in black, the figure moved with inhuman grace that marked it as either a demon or a reaper. It turned its hooded head this way and that as if looking for signs of being watched, and Grell hastily ducked behind the chimney top to conceal himself before the stranger looked up. If it was a demon then it might not be able to see him thanks to his cloaking…but Grell did not sense any demonic aura from it. That meant it must be a reaper. Grell pulled out his cell and he dialed Eric’s number from the contact list.

"Officer Slingby speakin’."

"Eric, someone’s slinking around the old codger’s shop," explained Grell in a low, urgent voice. "I don’t believe it’s a demon. I could be mistaken but I think it may be a reaper. Yes, yes…I’m fairly sure of it, in fact. I can sense the death aura when I concentrate. You should return as quickly as you can so that we can engage the fellow."

"Damn, tha’ happened sooner than I thought," sighed Eric. "A’right…jus’ hang tight ‘till I get there an’ dun’ try tae take him on alone. Where’s he at?"

"He was coming around the back courtyard a moment ago," answered Grell. He cautiously peeked around the edge of the chimney top and he frowned. "What? He…he’s vanished!"

"Are ya sure ‘bout tha’? Maybe he jus’ moved around tae tha o’er side out of yer line o’ sight."

"I don’t think so," answered Grell dubiously. "He was moving too slowly for that and I only took my eyes off him for a moment! Oh bother…I’d better get down there and search for him."

"Sutcliff, tha’s no’ a good idea," cautioned Eric. "Jus’ wait ‘till I get there, a’right?"

"Fine," Grell huffed. He just wanted this ugly business over with so that their lives could go back to normal. Babysitting the Undertaker wasn’t his idea of proper work for Dispatch agents.

* * *

 

Eric arrived within minutes, and the two of them jumped down from the rooftop to investigate the Undertaker’s property for signs of the intruder. They found nothing, of course. Eric suggested that Grell had just been seeing things and the redhead vehemently denied that.

"He was bloody here, all right?" insisted Grell in frustration as they stood out in the front of the funeral parlor.

"Wull he’s definitely gone now," sighed Eric. They’d used the key given to them to investigate inside as well and they found no trace of the culprit. "Maybe he saw ya an’ took off while ya were looking away. I thought I sensed traces of a portal when we went through tha back door."

"Well, this is just perfect," griped Sutcliff. "I might have been able to surprise him if I’d acted right away and this whole thing could be done with!"

"Or ya could’ve ended up like tha’ poor bastart we found in tha Undertaker’s garden," Eric pointed out. "Jus’ let it go, Grell. He’ll slip up eventually an’ we’ll catch him."

"Styx, I hope you’re right." Grell rubbed his arms and looked around. "Well, our shift is just about over with now anyways. How was Alan?"

"Better." Eric nodded and got his phone out. "They’ll release him tae go home t’morrow. He wants tae come back tae work right away but they’re cautioning against it ‘till he’s rested up a couple o’ days."

"Then you’d best stay by your cutie’s side and ensure his cooperation," Grell suggested. "Humphries is almost as big a workoholic as my Will, and you are the only one he’ll listen to when he’s got his mind set on something."

Eric smirked a little. “Aye. I’ll do mah best tae convince him tae stay home a few days. I’m gonna report this tae tha boss an’ you should go tae headquarters and fill out tha physical report, since ya were tha one tae see tha suspect.”

Grell agreed with a “death” salute, and he formed a portal. “Until later then, handsome.”

* * *

 

Ronald cursed when he got off the phone with his boss. They’d almost had the slimeball, but he’d somehow slipped away while Grell was calling for backup. The stalker was getting bolder to approach Undertaker’s shop while it was still daylight. Maybe that meant he’d soon get frustrated enough to make a mistake. Ronald decided not to tell his lover about it, because he didn’t want to give the Undertaker more reason to feel stressed. Telling him they’d spotted the guy but couldn’t catch him certainly wouldn’t improve his anxiety.

"Huh…never thought I’d live t’ see the day when the Undertaker of all folk would be all stressed out," muttered Ronald with a shake of his head. Then again, he’d learned quite a few surprising things about the retired agent since this all started. Under the surface, he was a lot like any other reaper with fears and vulnerabilities of his own. Death gods though they were, they were not omnipotent and that included the Undertaker.

"Well, there’s no sense dwelling on it right now," reasoned Knox to himself as he finished up his reports for the day. He’d made good time with his collections and he wanted to clock out on schedule so that he could get home to his boyfriend. Part of him worried what the enigmatic ancient was getting up to alone in his apartment. He’d spoken to him over the phone at lunchtime and the Undertaker informed him he’d have a surprise for him when he got home. Ronald dearly hoped it was him naked in bed and not a surprise of a less pleasant nature.

Once he finished the last report of the day, Ronald dropped by Will’s office and turned the stack in. “I’m outta here, sir,” he said to the senior officer. “If ya don’t have anything else for me, I’m clocking out and going home.”

"Have someone escort you to your vehicle," said William without looking up from his paperwork, "but be discreet about it, do you understand, Knox?"

Remembering that he was basically a worm on a hook now, Ronald grimaced. “Uh, yeah. I’ll go get Eric, then. I’m pretty sure he’s in his office right now. G’night, boss.”

William nodded absently, stuck in his work like always. Ronald excused himself and he greeted his former mentor as he passed Grell on the way. “Tough luck about the stalker,” he said. “Better luck next time, Senpai.”

"Oh, don’t remind me." Grell made a dismissive gesture with a gloved hand. "Just watch your darling little arse when you leave, Ronnie. Security has not reported anything unusual around this building, but if that creep could catch you by surprise before, he could do so again."

"I’ll have Eric watch my arse," chuckled Ronnie. He made a face. "Uh, that didn’t come out th’ way I meant it to."

"Trying to make Alan jealous, dear?" Grell smiled sharply at him as he stopped by William’s door. "For shame."

Ronald had no rebuttal for that because his mind was on the Undertaker. “See you tomorrow, then.”

* * *

 

Eric accompanied him to the parking garage and he watched from the shadows as Ronald went to his car, ready to spring to action if anyone unusual approached the younger blond. Ron made it to his car without incident and he was almost disappointed by that as he got in and buckled up. Waiting for the suspect to make another move was frustrating. It was a pity they didn’t have more to go by to track him down. Ronald started up the car and pulled out of the parking garage onto the street. As he drove home, he perused the radio stations until he found a song he liked, and he checked his rearview mirror. He noticed an older model black sedan three cars back and at first, he thought nothing of it. After passing through a couple of traffic lights and turning, he realized the same car was still behind him.

Ronald frowned and he reached for his phone in his pocket. Maybe he was being paranoid, but with all the weirdness that had been happening lately who could blame him? He quick-dialed his boss and he spoke the moment Will picked up.

"Sir, I think someone might be following me," Ronald explained. "Did you happen t’ assign any agents to following me home after work?"

"No, I did not," answered William, "though I had considered it and I probably should have. Where are you at, Agent Knox?"

Ronald checked the street signs. “I’m on 43rd, about three blocks from my apartment building. Let me just check…”

He tested his suspicion by turning again—heading away from the route he normally took home. After a moment, the suspicious vehicle became visible in his rearview mirror again. Either it was a monster coincidence, or someone really was following him. “Shit, he turned with me. I can’t see the driver’s face from here but the car looks like it’s about ten years old. It’s a sedan. Can’t tell what make it is other than that.”

"Then turn on your tracing application and I shall have Dispatch tune into your signal and send agents to come for you. Avoid going home or stopping anywhere unpopulated, if possible."

Ronald looked at his fuel gauge and he grimaced. “Um, I can try but I’m low on fuel, sir. I might run out if I try t’ lead ‘em on a wild goose chase.”

Will sighed. “Then stop at a well-lit fuel station if you must, and be sure there are people around. Just do not stop anywhere that leaves you open to attack, Ronald.”

"Yes sir. I’ll let you know if he turns off somewhere and stops following me."

Ronald hung up and he reached for the device on his dashboard that would allow Dispatch to track him. William recently assigned it in case of emergency, so that help could be sent if he were ever in a situation that required it. Ronald kept his in his car attached to a mount—which was fine except he was supposed to carry it on his person when not driving. He’d just forgotten to take it out that morning when arriving at work. The light on the small, beeper-like device started blinking, indicating that it was sending out the signal for Dispatch to track.

Ronald turned down another street where he knew he’d find a popular service station and sure enough, the black sedan turned as well. It was keeping its distance but so far it had turned down every street he’d turned on. Ronald pulled into the service station and he cut the engine before getting out to refuel. He watched the mystery car come down the street an he braced himself as he put the nozzle in to fill his tank up.

"Try something," he whispered, watching the vehicle from the corner of his eye as he filled the tank. "I dare ya."

The sedan passed by the service station with the other traffic, and Ronald thought he saw a male profile with a ponytail before the car went past. He squinted at the plate number and he repeated it to himself, committing it to memory. The car kept going and Ronald wondered if it really had been just a coincidence. Just as he finished refueling, a pair of Dispatch agents pulled up beside him in a maroon hatchback. He recognized one of them as a neighbor from his own apartment. The other one was a junior officer he hadn’t seen around much.

"Hey Lance," greeted Ronald. He pulled the nozzle out of his gas tank and he replaced it, before taking out his company card and swiping it to pay for the fuel. That was one of the perks of working as a Dispatch agent: officers of middle rank and up got one free fillup each week compliments of his department.

"Evening, Ron," answered the ponytailed agent. "So where’s the suspect?"

"He drove on by when I stopped to refuel," answered Ronald with a shrug. "Sorry mate. He sure seemed to be following me but I guess he just happened t’ be heading in the same direction as me. Just reckoned after everything that’s been going on I should report it in."

"Don’t sweat it," assured Lance. "Did you happen to get a plate number?"

"Sure did." Ronald nodded and withdrew his phone to text it to the other agent…and to his boss as well. "If we can look up that number we might get the owner’s address. I dunno how Spears senpai will want to handle it since the guy kept driving, though."

"We can look into it. Want us to follow you home just in case?"

Ronald nearly declined, but then he reconsidered. Suppose the driver of that car just went around the block to wait on him, seeing as he couldn’t make a move at the service station without witnesses. If it _was_ the same guy that had been stalking the Undertaker and attacked him in the parking garage that day, he wasn’t the sort to fight fair. So far he seemed to be more of the “creeping around in the dark” kind of wanker that preferred sucker punching people from behind and killing helpless animals and mortals than a chap that would engage in a fair fight.

"Right, that’s a good idea," agreed Ronald. "Just in case."

* * *

 

Undertaker came out of the small kitchen when Ronald came through the door announcing himself. He smiled at his young lover, happy to see him after a day spent alone in unfamiliar surroundings. He had nothing against Ronald’s quaint little apartment, but he did miss his shop and living space.

"Hi hi, love," greeted the mortician as Ronald stopped and looked around at his handiwork. "What do you think?"

Ron blinked with obvious surprise. “Wow. This is the tidiest my place has ever been! So did you just spend the whole day cleaning?”

"And baking," said Undertaker with a cheerful nod.

Ronald sniffed the air and his stomach growled loud enough for the other reaper to hear it. “Damn, that smells good,” he sighed. “What’d you make?”

"Shepard’s Pie." The Undertaker approached and he helped Ronald out of his jacket and hung it up by the door. "Had a feeling you’d be a bit peckish when you got off work. I wondered if I’d have to keep it warm for you, but you’re in luck; it’s fresh out of the oven."

"You’re gonna spoil me," warned Ronald for the second time that day, smiling at him. "I hope you weren’t too bored sitting here all day long."

"Oh, I kept myself occupied." The Undertaker gave Ronald’s bottom a brief, familiar pat. "Come sit down and have a bite, m’dear. I also baked some of my special treats to snack on."

At once, Ronald looked a bit troubled and the ancient wondered if he’d taken it too far. “Er, if y’ don’t want me cleaning up around here just let me know. I put everything back where I found it—well, mayhap in a more organized fashion, but you shouldn’t find anything missing.”

"Oh no…that’s not it." Ronald sighed and he put his arms around the taller man, gazing up at his half-concealed face. He made a sound of annoyance and he released one arm from around the mortician’s waist to reach up and brush aside his bangs. "There, now I can see those gorgeous eyes."

"What’s the trouble?" Undertaker tilted his head and he ran his nails over Ronald’s back. The blond shivered and the older man smirked at the reaction. "I’m trying to be a good houseguest, is all. You don’t have to look so…guilty."’

Ron shrugged. “Noticed that, did ya? Well it’s not ‘cause you cleaned up around here and cooked for me…though that’s a lot more than I would’ve asked. You’re a great houseguest, but I’m not a very good host, am I? I just leave you cooped up in this little hole in the wall while I go to work, and here you are being all domestic and taking care of the cooking and cleaning. I’d like to take you out on the town, tomorrow. It’s one of your ‘free’ days so we can stay out all night if we want. We could even rent a nice hotel room and order room service the next morning…ya know, since I can’t cook to save my life. I’ve gotta do _something_ to pay you back for all this.”

Undertaker clucked his tongue and he ran his nails through Ronald’s feathered hair. “Rubbish. You don’t need to feel bad for going to work, Ronnie. You’ve a job to do and you can’t just drop that to keep me entertained. Like I said; I kept myself busy. Watched a bit of telly, did some reading…I didn’t just spend the whole day playing housewife. Doesn’t take long to clean a place of this size and I enjoy cooking, so don’t you fret.”

"Y-yeah, but—"

"Shh." The Undertaker pressed a fingertip against Ronald’s lips, smiling at him. His bangs fell over his eyes again as he shook his head. When he spoke again, it was in that dulcet tone he only seemed to employ around Ronald. "Let me explain something to you, love. You saw the condition of my shop, the day we had our first little encounter. It might as well have been abandoned for all the care I’d been taking of it. Leaks in the roof, cobwebs all over—not that I mind those, of course. Do you know why the place was in such a state, darlin’?"

"I think so," answered Ronald uncertainly. He recalled the observation he’d made himself that day…and how it had prompted him to feel a bit sorry for the mortician. "You were…lonely?"

The Undertaker considered that term for it, and he finally nodded. “I suppose that was a big part of it, yeah. I was lonely and despondent. Laughter had become a thing of the past, and at some point I simply stopped caring. None of it seemed to matter anymore, and so I turned myself in to Dispatch. I knew they’d never imprison me for long or have me executed, you see. I also knew they’d be keeping a close eye on me—which meant weekly visits from my own kind.”

Ronald blinked at him with dawning comprehension. “So wait…are you telling me you did it just because you wanted some reaper company again?”

The mortician sighed and combed his bangs back from his eyes again. “I think that played a role in it, yeah. When everyone you grow fond of keeps leaving you due to their mortality, it starts to wear on a body. I could never really be close to any of them, but neither was I willing to move back to this realm because I knew it wouldn’t be the same as I recalled it. Couldn’t get close to any of my own kind, either. I think I was feeling trapped before they ever put this tracking collar on me and put me on house arrest, m’dear. Having probation officers just gave me the opportunity to have a taste of being in the company of my own kind now and then. Seemed like a reasonable tradeoff, since I was already becoming a candidate for hermit-hood.”

The look of pity on Ronald’s face made the Undertaker wished he hadn’t spoken so openly about it. “Now, don’t look so sorry for me, lad.” He cupped the boy’s chin and he smiled at him. “You’ve turned things around for me. I’ve got a reason to get out of bed each day now—or the coffin, as the case may be. I’ve found laughter again and even though we’ve got this buggar-all situation with my obsessive creeper, I feel like I’m actually alive again for the first time in a good while. So y’ see, there’s no need to worry about treating me to a fancy night out. I mean you’re welcome to if you like, but I don’t want it to be out of any feelings of guilt for leaving me alone during the day, yeah? Let’s have a smile.”

Ronald’s mouth pulled into a hesitant smile, and it grew stronger when the Undertaker smiled back. The mortician chuckled in delight and he kissed those smiling lips. “That’s much better. Now let’s eat. I can hear your stomach growling like a bear.”

Ronald chuckled. “You bet!”

* * *

 

As they sat down at the counter bar to eat together, Ronald started to second-guess his decision not to tell his lover about what had happened. He wanted to be honest with him, but he just felt like it would only lead to more frustration if he told him that not only had the mystery villain slipped through their fingers again, but he thought he might have been followed for a time on his way home from work. He knew that Dispatch would let him know if their search for the car’s plates led to anything worthwhile but he felt so helpless. He just wanted this creep to leave the Undertaker alone so they could have a somewhat normal relationship.

But what was “normal”, when it came to a man like the Undertaker? Ronald’s basis for comparison was rather dull, now that he thought of it. He’d never been with anyone like the mortician before and he never would have thought he’d go for him to begin with. He’d surprised himself as much as the Undertaker when he went for it that day, and the way the older reaper had made him feel hit him like lightning, with no warning. Ronald could sort of understand why someone would be obsessed enough to stalk him, now that he’d come to know him as he had.

"How’s the pie?" questioned the Undertaker as Ronald’s thoughts drove him into silence.

"Oh, it’s awesome," enthused Ron quickly, realizing he hadn’t said a word since they sat down to eat. "Thanks again, ‘Taker. This is the best dinner I’ve had for a while."

Undertaker smiled and sipped his water. “Good. I’ll see to it you always have a hot meal waiting for you when you come home while I’m your guest…and no teasing me about being a housewife, mind you.”

Ronald smirked flirtatiously at him and he brushed his foot against the mortician’s leg. “No matter how long your hair is or how pretty you are t’ me, I could never mistake you for a girl. Not with a package like _that_.” He glanced down at the Undertaker’s lap meaningfully, where he could just make out the bulge of said package outlined by the robes covering his companion. It wasn’t so easy to tell most of the time thanks to the layers the man wore, but even with all that covering him, once the Undertaker got excited it was hard to miss the evidence of his endowments.

"If you ever need a reminder, say the word and I’ll strip for you," teased the mortician. "I’ll even walk ‘round in my birthday suit from now on if you start feeling like you might mistake me for a lady."

Ronald laughed at that, choking a bit on his food. “‘Scuse me,” he muttered, reaching for his soda to rinse it down. He glanced at the Undertaker and he shook his head. “You don’t strike me as girly, hot stuff. A bit more nurturing than I ever expected, but not really feminine. Still, if you want to walk around naked in my place, don’t hesitate. I’d love to come home to that every evening.”

The direction of their conversation reminded Ronald of something, and he glanced toward the living room where his jacket was hanging. “Oh, right. I’ve got a little surprise for you after dinner, too.”

"Oh?" Undertaker smiled at him. "And what might that be, love?"

Ronald shrugged, his cheeks warming up a little. “You’ll see. I just hope you don’t take it the wrong way.”

"Hmm, now you’ve tickled my curiosity. I’m looking forward to seeing what my surprise is, Ronnie." The ancient reached down with his free hand and he gave Ronald’s knee a squeeze.

Ronald swallowed more of his soda and he silently prayed he wouldn’t spook the man with his surprise. After all, the Undertaker seemed reluctant to discuss sexual fantasies he might wish to act out. Hoping he wouldn’t end up offending him, Ronald finished his meal and he braced himself as he got up to retrieve his jacket—along with the item he’d brought home from work with him.

"Okay, here goes," he breathed as he walked back to the kitchen area with it. He reached into the jacket’s inner pocket and he withdrew a pair of Dispatch-issued handcuffs. He looked at his lover almost sheepishly as he held them dangling before the Undertaker’s startled, green-gold eyes. "I remembered what we talked about this morning at breakfast, so I picked these up just in case you ever wanted t’ try them. No pressure, ‘Taker…I just reckoned it wouldn’t hurt to have ‘em handy if you ever got in the mood to play a little."

The mortician coughed into his hand and his face took on the pink blush that Ronald found so bloody adorable. “Oh my…that’s…well, how interesting…”

Ronald bit his lip on a grin. “You’re blushing pretty, gorgeous.”

"Well I…excuse me. I seem to have swallowed…the wrong way." Undertaker coughed again and blinked. He was grinning in a shy but intrigued manner at the cuffs. "So much for my theory you were just funning with me this morning."

"Nope. I was serious." Ronald winked, his hopes perking up. "Like I said, I’d be fine with wearing them. I’m not asking _you_ to do it until you’re comfortable with it, and if you never are, then that’s fine too. I’m just putting the offer on the table.” He dropped the cuffs to the counter in emphasis and he propped his chin in his hand, bracing his elbow against the table. “So have I freaked you out?”

The Undertaker shook his head. “Oh, not at all. It’s not like you brought a hot poker home. A bit of bondage is fairly tame compared to the sort of things some folk get up to.”

"So you think ya might want to try them out sometime?" Ronald traced patterns over the top of Undertaker’s hand with one fingertip.

"I think once I take a bit of time to get used to the idea I might," answered the mortician. He picked the cuffs up curiously, examining the alloy it was fashioned from. "Hmm…Shinigami steel. I think even I’d have trouble breaking out of these."

"No point in getting cuffs either of us could snap like a twig," Ronald pointed out. He rubbed the hand he was caressing. "Again, no pressure. The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable with me, beautiful."

"I know." The Undertaker dropped the cuffs back onto the counter and he turned his hand over to hold Ronald’s with it. "I’ll think on it, love."

Ronald nodded, happy that he was at least considering it and didn’t seem to find it too odd a request. He couldn’t say exactly _why_ he’d been so nervous about suggesting it, considering that his lover was quite the oddball himself. Maybe it was because he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Undertaker wasn’t entirely at ease with his sexuality just yet. Sometimes he could be seductive as hell and others, he seemed uncertain of himself. He was gaining confidence with each encounter though, and Ronald was optimistic that he’d eventually be ready to try different things with him.

* * *

 

That night after Ronald fell asleep, the Undertaker gently disengaged from his arms, quietly got out of the bed and he went to the bedroom window, cloaked in nothing save his flowing silver hair. He pulled the curtain aside and raised the blinds to look out at the night sky. There weren’t as many stars visible here as he was used to on the mortal side, but reaper London had much more city lights than he was accustomed to. The moon was half-full and that at least was a familiar sight to him. Though the realms were phased differently, they did share the same sky. Were he at home, he might be on his rooftop right now enjoying the sight.

The ancient shifted on his feet, and the pleasant ache in his nethers served as a reminder of the way his companion had loved him so thoroughly before falling asleep in his embrace. Undertaker smiled at the memory, touching his lips with his fingertips as the encounter replayed in his mind. They’d started out spooning and then Ronald flipped him onto his back to finish. As usual the young agent’s arduous vocalizations filled the air, mingling with the Undertaker’s moans of pleasure. Merciful death, that lad could fuck.

The Undertaker blushed at his own silent observation. He hadn’t thought this way for so long and while he couldn’t help those moments of lingering bashfulness that came of being alone for so long, he was certainly getting bolder and less restrained. Knox brought it out so easily in him.

Inevitably, his thoughts of his charming lover gave way to thoughts of the enemy that was still out there, just waiting for another chance to strike. The Undertaker’s smile faded and he closed his eyes, trying not to visualize that poor sod they’d found in his garden. It was a warning, he was sure. It was so very familiar, too. If it wasn’t Victor Tally behind all this, then it had to be someone that had been close to him…someone that knew the history between him and Undertaker. Perhaps one of Victor’s old friends or lackeys that wanted revenge? Some reapers had always suspected that the Undertaker had something to do with the man’s disappearance because of how things ended between them. Others believed he went into hiding after an arrest warrant was issued over the murder of the Undertaker’s last mortal love interest.

The ancient sighed and opened his eyes again, telling himself that it was different this time, even if Victor Tally _was_ alive and behind all this. Ronald was a capable agent. He was no weak and fragile mortal.

_~But I defeated him easily in a fight, and Tally is as old as I am, if he’s still alive. Then there’s that bloke that snuck up on Ronnie on his way to his car and clobbered him. If he could do it once, he could do it again.~_

Undertaker reminded himself that Dispatch was on the alert now, and it was unlikely that any of Ronald’s allies were ever far from him when he was on the job. The suspect wouldn’t find it so easy to take him by surprise now. It just didn’t sit well with the Undertaker for him to be the bait for this trap, though.

He looked down at the street below and his thoughts froze in his head. There was a hooded, robed figure standing across the street under the streetlight. It was just standing there, staring up at the floor Undertaker and Ronald were on. His vision was far too poor to make out any details beyond the man’s build and height. He thought he could see part of his lower face showing, but it was too blurry for the Undertaker to make out fine details.

He backed away from the window and he summoned his scythe. Anger began to replace the alarm he’d felt, and anger was not an emotion he’d felt so strongly in years. “You weedy gudgeon,” he muttered in a fury, speaking through his teeth. “Come to try and give me the willies, have you? I’ve got news for you friend… _I’m_ the thing that goes bump in the night.”

Ronald stirred at the gritted statement from his lover and he sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. “‘Taker? Whatcha doing?”

Rather than answer him, the ancient opened the window and jumped out without warning, still utterly nude save for the scythe in his hand.

* * *

 

"Shit! Undertaker, get back here!"

Ronald had only enough time to yank on a pair of pajama pants and slippers, and then he crammed his glasses on and he jumped out the window to follow him. He spotted a cloaked figure up ahead by the alleyway across the street, and his heart hammered in his throat. Undertaker’s exposed bum flashed in the light of the moon and the street lamps as he sprinted after the figure, and it whirled and began to run from him.

"Stop," shouted Ronald, "as an agent of Dispatch, I order you to stop!"

Of course the bastard wasn’t listening to him and he hadn’t really expected him to. Ron winced when his lover’s bare feet came down on a broken bottle and left a trail of blood spots. Undertaker had a longer stride than he did and he was getting ahead of him fast. He was also catching up with the culprit. Ronald cursed again and he summoned his death scythe for lack of any better ideas. If he hadn’t been half-asleep and took a moment to think, he’d have considered calling Dispatch for backup. He saw the undertaker grab hold of the trailing end of the suspect’s robes and give them a yank, practically clotheslining their wearer. He heard a choked cry and he frowned when he recognized it.

“‘Taker, don’t!” Ronald shouted as his lover pinned Grell Sutcliff to the wall by the throat and started to bring his scythe down on him. “It’s Senpai!”

Grell’s eyes were wide in his now-exposed face and Ronald couldn’t be sure if his shriek was one of excitement or fear. The Undertaker’s scythe stopped just before it would have cleaved him from shoulder to hip, the point hovering over his collarbone. Now that he was closer, Ronald could see that the hooded cloak he’d first believed to be black was actually a deep maroon, made of velvet.

"Here now, what are you about?" Snapped the mortician, still holding his scythe blade threateningly over the flamboyant reaper.

"Yeah, what th’ hell’s going on, Senpai?" Demanded Ronald in a huff as he skidded to a stop beside his lover.

"Oh dear…oh my…what a big…scythe you have," Grell blurted, his gaze going directly to the Undertaker’s exposed genitals.

"Damn it Grell, answer us!" Ronald feared that one wrong move would render his mentor in two pieces, and he looked warily at his deadly boyfriend. "Don’t reap him, ‘Taker. Let him explain!"

"I was assigned to take shifts watching your bloody apartment, that’s what I was doing!" Grell bit his lip and drew a drop of blood. "Do you always welcome your protectors this way, Unnie-darling?"

"Then why’d you run away?" asked Ronald, reaching out to grasp the snath of the Undertaker’s scythe to stay his hand.

"W-well, I hardly expected to see this glorious hunk of a death god come charging at me in naught but his skin," defended Grell. He smiled at the mortician. "Not that I object to naked men throwing themselves at me of course, but you did give me a start when you drew your scythe. What else was I to do, stand here and wait to be cut down?"

Ronald didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. “And you didn’t think it might not be a good idea to wear a hooded cloak? That’s exactly what the guy that attacked me was wearing!”

"That was a robe, not a cloak," defended Grell, "and it was black! Mine clearly is not!"

Undertaker snatched up the edge of the material and peered at it. He shrugged his bare shoulders. “Looked black t’ me from the window.”

Grell snatched the cloak back and straightened indignantly. “Well it clearly isn’t, as you can now see. Will told me to conceal my hair because it’s too distinctive and the culprit might have caught a glimpse of me earlier today, so—”

"What’s that?" Undertaker frowned and Ronald face-palmed.

"Uh, Senpai," said the blond lamely, unable to warn Grell that he hadn’t told the Undertaker about the intruder Grell had seen on his property earlier.

"I said the culprit might have recognized me if he came sniffing around," explained Grell. "Is your hearing going, old man? Anyway, he’s built heavier than I am, whoever he is. I suppose since you haven’t seen him yet you would not know that, darling." Grell’s eyes swept over him again. "I must say, Ronnie’s a very fortunate reaper."

Ronald placed himself between the two of them—not only to prevent the mortician from trying to reap Grell, but to keep his mentor’s bold gaze off his lover’s nudity as well. “Okay look…I didn’t say anything because it wouldn’t do any good, ‘Taker. Grell spotted the suspect at your shop today on his shift to watch over the place, but the guy vanished before they could catch him. I’m sorry…I should have told you. I just didn’t want to give you more frustrating news.”

"Keeping things from your man, Ronald?" Grell clucked his tongue chidingly. "Such a naughty boy."

Undertaker sighed and banished his scythe. “Ronnie, you never need to be afraid of telling me news about my case…even if it’s bad news. I appreciate your intentions, my lad, but I’m not that fragile.”

"Well…uh, I’ll keep that in mind." Ronald was getting distracted by the Undertaker’s nudity himself, and it occurred to him that they were either going to have to scale the building to get back into his apartment or go to management to explain the situation and have them unlock the door for them. Either way, his lover was standing there without a stitch of clothing on and he wondered how he’d get him back inside without someone else getting an eyeful.

Grell must have guessed the direction of his thoughts, because he clucked his tongue again and unfastened his cloak. “Here, you ghostly beauty. Put this on before you induce nosebleeds.”

Undertaker accepted the cloak, and Grell sighed as his nudity was concealed beneath it. “I suppose you didn’t pause to get your keys on the way out, Ronald?”

"Er…no. I wasn’t thinking of it," admitted Ronald.

Grell chuckled and fished his own set of keys out of his trouser pocket on the ring was a copy of Ronald’s apartment key. “Never fear, Grell is here! Now, lets get you two inside so that I can get back to my shift.”

Mortified by the whole affair, Ronald didn’t argue with him. They managed to sneak through the lobby and into the elevator with only a curious glance from the night security guard, and once they were safely inside his apartment again Ronald breathed a sigh of relief and gave Grell’s keys back.

"Thanks, Senpai. Sorry about all this. You should’ve called me or something to let me know. You can’t really blame ‘Taker for his reaction…he couldn’t see the details well enough to know it was just you."

Grell waved a hand and he accepted his cloak back from the mortician when Undertaker came out of the bathroom, now donning the bathrobe he’d packed. “Oh, that’s fine, Ronald. I must say, this night has been far more thrilling than I expected! Now I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone and get back to my post. I certainly hope Will appreciates the trouble I’m going through on your behalf!”

Ronald walked Grell to the door. “I’m sure he does. G’night, Grell. See ya tomorrow I guess.”

Once his mentor was gone, Ronald locked the door and he leaned against it with a tired sigh. He saw the Undertaker watching him and he braced himself. “You’re mad at me for not telling you about the guy showing up today, aren’t you?”

Undertaker lowered his gaze with a rueful smirk. “Actually, I’d have to be a hypocrite to get angry over that, Ronnie. There’s something I need to tell you, as well. This morning I woke up to another incident.”

Ronald frowned, not immediately catching on. “What do ya mean, ‘incident’?”

The mortician met his eyes hesitantly. “I found blood in my hair and on the bedding when I woke up this morning. Not a lot, mind you, but I couldn’t work out where it had come from until I went to the loo and found a message scrawled in my handwriting on the mirror, written in blood. It was then I recalled what I thought was just a dream about me cutting myself with my own nails.”

Ronald’s expression changed to one of concern. “What’d the message say?”

Undertaker sighed before answering. “‘Nowhere to hide’, it said. I must’ve written it in my sleep like the last notes I left myself.”

Ronald stepped away from the door and closed the distance between them, putting his arms around him. “I get why you wouldn’t want to tell me about that. I guess we’ve both got to learn not to keep things from each other just because we might worry each other. ‘Taker…we’ve got to start keeping a journal or something and write it down everytime something like this happens. It always seems to go on at night and maybe if it’s around a certain time we could predict it. If it’s getting to the point where you’re drawing your own blood, then I’m worried. You could really start hurting yourself.”

"Or you," murmured the Undertaker softly.

"I still don’t believe that for a minute," insisted Ronald. He kissed the part of the taller reaper’s chest that was exposed through the open V of his robe. "So far you seem to be all about punishing yourself. Shit, you scared the hell out of me when you jumped out that window with your scythe, you know. I thought you were sleepwalking again and for a minute, all I could picture was you falling on your scythe and reaping yourself."

The Undertaker chortled softly.

"It’s not funny," chastised Ronald with a light smack to the ancient’s bum.

Undertaker cleared his throat and nuzzled Ronald’s hair. “Sorry love. It’s my morbid sense of humor again. Let’s just get back to bed and try to forget my nude romp through the alleys, eh?”

"Sure. How’s your foot, though?"

"My foot?" Undertaker looked down as he lifted each foot one at a time to check the soles. He saw the blood on the left one and his brows went up. "My, I didn’t even feel anything. Must have stepped on something sharp while we were chasing down the street. The cut’s already closed though, so I’ll just rinse it off so I don’t leave anymore stains in the bed."

"I’ll help you," offered Ronald, "and don’t worry about the bedding, neither. I didn’t notice anything when I got up today so whatever you did to clean it off must have worked."

* * *

 

-To be continued 


End file.
